


Out of the Storm

by Sarai



Series: The House of Van Eck [2]
Category: Six of Crows Series - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon Disabled Character, Jesper and Wylan try to be parents, M/M, Post-Book 2: Crooked Kingdom, With Mixed Results
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-01
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-01-16 09:16:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 30,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21268655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarai/pseuds/Sarai
Summary: Wylan knows his family is less than traditional. He knows any child of his father's has no choice but to be a pawn. He doesn't know what it means to be a big brother, but jumps at the chance to try... and all too quickly finds that he's got himself and Jesper in over their heads.





	1. Hello, Cornelia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wylan is plenty tough by the end of Crooked Kingdom but one thing I like so much about him is his tendency to act as a champion. So. Yup. I will be writing him as a fluffy knight templar big brother, you've been warned :)
> 
> Also, this wasn't meant to be a sequel to 'Things and Comforts' but that just sort of... happened...

The Merchant Council exhausted Wylan. Sitting in a tidily cut suit and listening to them debate minutiae felt like an exercise in self-control more than anything productive. Little as he liked it, though, Wylan did it. He was the only member of the Merchant Council who knew anything about the poverty in Ketterdam, sometimes he thought he was the only one who cared about relieving those conditions. He owed it to Kerch to be prepared and do this right.  
  
One evening after he left a Council meeting, rather than take the short walk home, Wylan turned toward the Zelver District. He had an engagement tonight with… well, he wasn’t sure what to call Alys. He had an engagement with his imprisoned father’s second wife to meet his half-sister.  
  
He knew what babies were, of course. Everyone knew what babies were. They were like normal people, only very small. But this one was related to him. She would be special.  
  
He visited Alys at her parents’ home, where she had returned after the “plague” passed. They were pleasant enough people, and Alys seemed genuinely pleased to see him.  
  
“Wylan!”  
  
Alys hugged him. Surprised, Wylan didn’t respond for a second. Then he hugged her in return. She had always been kind to him, but the affection was new.  
  
Before she married Jan, she had been Alys Tuinstra. And so she was to be again soon enough. As Wylan understood it, she had remained a Van Eck just long enough that her child would be one—the Van Ecks were a more prominent and prosperous family than the Tuinstras. He suspected her parents had made the decision and wondered if it was a gambit to promote themselves or to potentially aid their grandchild.  
  
“It’s nice to see you again. You look well,” he said. She did look absolutely glowing.  
  
As he followed Alys into the sitting room, Wylan noted the piano. He couldn’t help thinking about Alys and her passion for music. He wondered if she had gotten much better… and if she studied with the same teacher.  
  
“Thank you. Please sit.”  
  
They chatted for a while over tea. Alys did most of the talking—about the weather, about her music lessons (yes, she still studied with Mister Bajan), about her newest parakeet. Wylan didn’t contribute much. He didn’t have much to say on those subjects. But he didn’t mind. He sipped his tea, and nodded, and enjoyed her easy company. There was something reassuring in someone who had no expectations of him. Alys wasn’t trying to persuade Wylan’s vote or work a sly con against his businesses. He was simply here for company and tea.  
  
The pryaniki were an interesting choice. Sitting in on meetings of the Merchant Council, Wylan had learned that tensions were growing between Kerch and Ravka—apparently there were indicators that the Ravkans had developed technologies that could be game-changers at sea, while the Zemeni fleets were catching up to the Kerch. As their nautical superiority had been the source of their international power for so long, this made the higher political echelons of Kerch uncomfortable. It made Wylan’s head spin—there was so much to learn and he was already late knowing it.  
  
Perhaps the cookies meant something.  
  
Perhaps they were simply tasty cookies. Were the Tuinstras prominent enough to make political statements with such details?  
  
Wylan remembered little of his childhood, but he knew he had been entrusted to the care of nannies fairly early. He oughtn’t to have been surprised, then, when it was a nanny who brought in his half-sister.  
  
“Here we are,” she said. She was a cheerful-looking woman with apple cheeks and a mole on her chin, carrying a soft yellow blanket wrapped around a bundle of tiny human.  
  
Wylan stood, unable to keep from noticing Alys’s put-out look at his eagerness to see the baby—it was true he was more excited for his half-sister than Alys.  
  
“Would you like to hold your little sister, Mister Van Eck?”  
  
“Yes, please.”  
  
“Now, just hold your arms up like this—she’s got a very weak little neck at this age, you’ll have to support her head—like that, there’s a good lad.”  
  
He hadn’t escaped that yet, being seen as a little boy. Wylan wondered if it would help when he started growing a beard. For now he just held his arms the way he was told. When he had it right, the nanny—he needed to learn her name—placed baby in his arms.  
  
Wylan gasped. He actually _gasped_.  
  
She was simultaneously heavier and lighter than expected.  
  
She didn’t weigh much, but it was _how_ she weighed, how she _felt_, the way she moved with each small breath and the warmth of her beating heart. She was weighted with life. There was a significant amount of humanity packed into that tiny body. She yawned and it was just about the cutest thing he had ever seen. It was like her mouth didn’t know how to make yawn-shapes yet.  
  
“Hello,” Wylan said softly, feeling himself change, too.  
  
He felt everything inside him melt. She was soft and warm and new, and it was like being so close reminded him what it was to be soft and warm and new himself. Her face looked squished in and softened, like dough that hadn’t finished baking, half a nose and undergrown eyebrows, which made her utterly human eyes more striking.  
  
He recognized those eyes. They unsettled him, so innocent, so alive—his father’s eyes in that tiny face. How could his father’s eyes look beautiful?  
  
“Hello, Cornelia.”  
  
Was that… was he _cooing_?  
  
Ghezen’s books, he was fairly certain he was. Stranger still, he didn’t care.  
  
“I’m your big brother.”  
  
That was important. She should know that.  
  
Wylan had, at times, felt protective of the people he loved, especially his mama, Jesper when the situation arose, though Jesper was usually the one being protective of Wylan. He was so much stronger in so many ways.  
  
This was different. He was immediately struck by the utter helplessness of the baby in his arms, how much responsibility he took in holding her. Her life was _literally_ in his hands. And, by Ghezen’s hand, he loved her. Did that make sense? He didn’t know her, wasn’t sure there was a her to know yet, but he loved her.


	2. Like Bread to Cake

Wylan stepped inside and shut the door as softly as possible. He slipped his shoes off and removed his coat. For a moment he stood, closed his eyes, and told himself under his breath, “I’m okay. Jan is in prison, Jesper’s here, Kaz is watching. I’m okay.”  
  
He felt silly saying it—those were simple facts. He shouldn’t need the reminders. But each one conjured an image in his mind—his father, furious, being led away by the stadwatch; Jesper, the way he smiled the first time they took the boat to Olendaal, when he was trying to pretend he hated the countryside; Kaz, terrifying, hard-eyed as he wrapped his fingers around the crow’s head of his cane. Each image helped ease the uncertainty that stirred sometimes when he stepped into this house.  
  
Even months since returning to Geldstraat, Wylan still needed his reminders. He didn’t know when, if, that would change.  
  
Normally, that weighed on him, but today—  
  
“You look happy.”  
  
Jesper watched him from the parlor doorway, where he had affected a casual lean. Wylan knew perfectly well Jesper had carefully arranged his ‘couldn’t care less’ posture, but damned if it wasn’t an attractive affectation!  
  
“Of course I do,” Wylan said, crossing the distance to him, “you’re here.”  
  
He had to stand on tiptoe to kiss Jesper. If he didn’t grow soon, Wylan was bound to develop really strong calves from all the stretching.  
  
“You looked happy _before_ you knew I was here,” Jesper replied. He wrapped an arm around Wylan’s waist, holding him close. “Should I be jealous?” he teased.  
  
“Well, I did meet someone special today.”  
  
“Oh yeah? I heard there’s a new runner at the Exchange, is he as handsome as me?”  
  
Wylan laughed. “No one’s as handsome as you.”  
  
“I know. How did it go with Alys?”  
  
The noise Wylan made could only be described as a squeal, which had them both laughing.  
  
“I didn’t know they were so—small! I thought—I guess I thought a baby just looked like a normal person, but proportionally smaller, but it’s nothing like that at all! She has… she has these _fingers_…”  
  
Wylan heard as much as he felt Jesper laughing, but he couldn’t help it. He didn’t blame Jesper, either. He was currently rhapsodizing about the fact that _babies have fingers_. Even Wylan knew he sounded ridiculous.  
  
“But it’s different! They’re so tiny, Jes, it’s hard to imagine bones so small, and her fingernails are… are… I don’t know how to describe them. Translucent. She’s something else. And her feet are so soft! They’re feet, but they’ve never been walked on, they’re rounder than normal feet and they’re just the softest little things. They’re like jelly feet.”  
  
This time even Wylan was laughing.  
  
“I know, I _know_,” he ceded, “I sound ridiculous.”  
  
“You do,” Jesper acknowledging, fingers under Wylan’s chin to tilt his head up for a kiss, “and I wouldn’t have you any other way. Cornelia’s lucky to have such a sweet big brother.”  
  
Wylan managed to focus on non-infantile things that evening. Meeting his baby sister had been a revelation of an entirely new part of the world, but he still had the old pieces to tend.  
  
He carried on a conversation with Marya about different shades of red—she was not having one of her better days, and it was easiest for her to talk about art when her mind slipped its tether. Nothing painted, she said, she wanted to paint reds that were natural, robins and strawberries.  
  
Roses, he suggested. Roses could be red.  
  
He and Jesper read through one terribly lengthy contract. Sometimes Wylan wondered if his father had the documents made as long as possible just to challenge him.  
  
He even found a moment to slip away from everything and hide a bag of candied almonds in Jesper’s sock drawer. It was Wylan’s preferred method of delivering gifts; it added the touch of unexpected that Jesper loved.  
  
There was one thing Wylan couldn’t get out of his head, though.  
  
That evening, when he should have been in bed—in _their_ bed, with Jesper—Wylan was standing in the washroom. He gripped the basin and stared at himself in the mirror.  
  
“Okay,” Jesper said, stepping up behind Wylan, “what happened? You’re nice to look at, but I know this isn’t about vanity.”  
  
Wylan turned his attention to Jesper’s reflection.  
  
“Do I look like him?” he asked.  
  
“Mmm… technically, yes. Like bread to cake.”  
  
“That makes no sense, but thank you. I think.”  
  
“It makes perfect sense. Flour, salt, eggs—the same basic pieces in different measures have a different result,” Jesper reasoned, and suddenly Wylan remembered he was speaking to a Fabrikator.  
  
Although Wylan had never learned to bake himself, it wasn’t unlike chemistry, either—the same elements, differently combined, led to entirely different outcomes. Jesper was right. It made perfect sense.  
  
“She has his eyes.” There was no question who he meant. “She has this… sweet, fat little face, and she has his eyes. Just like I do.”  
  
“Wylan…”  
  
“I know,” Wylan said. He turned. Jesper was close against him, close enough for Wylan to set an arm around his shoulders. This was everything Wylan wanted and he was frustrated with himself for not being happy. “I’m sorry. I should focus on the present—on you. Not on him.”  
  
“Turn around again.”  
  
Wylan hesitated, then did as he was told.  
  
“Look at yourself.”  
  
“Rather look at you.”  
  
“No. Look at _you,” _Jesper said, “or look at us.”  
  
He began to unbutton Wylan’s shirt.  
  
“Is this okay?”  
  
“Yes.” Wylan could just about disappear into this moment, in fact, Jesper’s arms around him, his back to Jesper’s chest…  
  
“Are you looking at yourself?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
He was not.  
  
“Can I kiss you?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
Jesper kissed Wylan’s neck down to his shoulder, then paused, his eyes going to their reflections.  
  
“Look at yourself, Wylan.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Because they’re your eyes. And nobody else’s.”


	3. A Minor Misunderstanding

Visits to Alys became a regular part of Wylan’s life, and he only became more enamored of his half-sister. He knew, intellectually, that it meant little when she squirmed and settled in his arms. That did not stop his heart fluttering at each yawn of her gummy, scrunched mouth and swelling like he had really _achieved something_ when she fell asleep in his arms.  
  
Other acts he was quite certain _did_ mean something, like when Cornelia began to cry whenever Alys played the piano. Wylan blushed recounting this to Jesper, but he knew Jesper would laugh, and that would make it feel okay that Wylan wanted to laugh. Alys really _was_ hopeless as a musician.  
  
That evening Wylan approached the mansion with a smile on his face. Cornelia had a clever new strategy. When her mama wanted to play the piano, Cornelia wanted to play hide and seek!  
  
Wylan’s smile dimmed as he approached the mansion. Someone was waiting just outside, on the road side rather than the canal.  
  
“Sanne.”  
  
She reminded him of Nina sometimes. Sanne was outgoing, flirtatious, and bold. She was a maid in the mansion, along with her cousin Jette.  
  
“You have to do something about her,” Sanne burst out. Then, more controlled, “Excuse me, Mister Van Eck, but you must do something about Miss Meijer, she’s been on Agata again.”  
  
“Again?” Wylan asked. He sighed, took off his hat and ran a hand through his hair.  
  
“Yes, again, and Agata’s good to Miss Hendriks, and she’s up in her room crying! She’s been through—”  
  
“I know, Sanne,” Wylan interrupted, in a more certain tone to remind her he knew his responsibilities. “I know what she’s been through or else I wouldn’t have hired her on. Tell me what’s happened and I’ll deal with it.”  
  
Sanne gave a brief nod and began to explain. Apparently things had been going on for some time, since Agata was hired in fact; the housekeeper, Miss Meijer, was hired by Wylan’s father. So were Sanne and Jette, but Miss Meijer was rather more like Jan Van Eck. She didn’t approve of Wylan. She didn’t dare express it in more than pinched looks, though. At least not to him.  
  
Once she had finished, Wylan said, “I’ll take care of this, but next time, I want to know immediately. You can talk to me or to Mister Fahey, but we can’t do anything if you don’t tell us there’s a problem.”  
  
Sanne nodded. “Of course, Mister Van Eck.”  
  
“Is Miss Meijer still here?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Right.”  
  
Not an hour ago, he found his baby sister ‘hiding’ with her toy dog. She had put a finger to her lips, shushed him loudly, and tugged him down to hide with her. She had buried her face in his chest and shaken with giggles. When he left the Tuinstras, he had carried that memory, her happiness and how warm and soft she felt curled against him.  
  
Now he stepped into his own home, and it felt like stepping into a chill.  
  
He found the housekeeper easily enough.  
  
“Miss Meijer, I’d like a moment.”  
  
“Of course.”  
  
She was good at her job, that was the part that made this so difficult. If she were slovenly or inaccurate, if he just had a reason to let her go, the whole situation would be much simpler. Instead, she ran the house extremely effectively, stepping in when his mama had a bad day.  
  
“Has everything been well? I haven’t spoken with you in a while and I thought perhaps I had overlooked matters.”  
  
“Everything’s been well, yes.”  
  
Wylan nodded. “Did you call Agata a whore?”  
  
Miss Meijer’s eyes narrowed.  
  
“Agata is a whore, Mister Van Eck.”  
  
He felt his mouth pressing into a thin line, his worst tell. He didn’t mind being obvious now. He didn’t want to leave any doubt as to how he felt.  
  
“Are you saying I employ a whore in my house?”  
  
Miss Meijer sighed. “Of course not.”  
  
“Are you calling my mother a bawd?”  
  
“Mister Van Eck—”  
  
“Agata is a lady’s maid. That is what I pay her for. If you find her work unsatisfactory, that is a matter to be brought to me.” Wylan hadn’t hesitated to offer Jesper as a point of contact with Sanne, because he knew Jesper liked Sanne. He loved Jesper too much to subject him to Miss Meijer. “But she’s good at her job. She makes my mother happy. I won’t have my mother’s happiness endangered over petty squabbles, is that understood?”  
  
Wylan wanted to tell her that it was simply wrong. ‘Whore’ was a cruel thing to call anyone and Agata, like many of the young men and women working on West Stave, had been indentured against her will. No one deserve to be judged for something like that.  
  
Miss Meijer didn’t care about Agata, but she respected the wealthy as recipients of Ghezen’s favor. Ghezen favored Marya Hendriks. She had inherited wealth and married wealth. Clearly Ghezen favored her greatly. Wylan had learned from Kaz that the best way to be persuasive was to know one’s target—hopefully Wylan was using this tactic correctly.  
  
“Yes, Mister Van Eck.” She sounded like she might have halfway meant it, too.  
  
Wylan hoped this would be the end of it. He doubted, but he hoped.  
  
He wished Miss Meijer a good evening and headed upstairs to the servants’ rooms. He knew which was Agata’s, but it wouldn’t have been difficult to find, anyway. He could hear her crying.  
  
Wylan knocked and asked permission before stepping into her room.  
  
Agata sat on her narrow bed beside Sveta, a Healer who had fled Ravka after the civil war. Wylan held both their indentures, though he had offered them a fair deal that would allow them to work off the debts. Still, he never forgot.  
  
“Does Miss Hendriks need something?” Agata asked. She was a mess from crying.  
  
“No, I’m here to ask after you,” Wylan explained. He crouched in front of her and offered his hands. She took them. “Are you okay?”  
  
“Yes, Mister Van Eck.”  
  
“You don’t have to be okay.”  
  
“I’m fine.”  
  
Wylan nodded. “I’ve had a word with Miss Meijer and she knows she’s not to speak to you about your past. You’ve been a great help to my mother.” With a glance at Sveta, he added, “And a great addition to the household.”  
  
It was only when Agata arrived that Sveta befriended not only Agata but Sanne and Jette, too. Now the four were a little tangle of friendship. Wylan couldn’t have been happier about that; he didn’t want anyone to be miserable or alone, especially not in his house.  
  
Agata gave a tight smile and nod.  
  
“Is there anything else I can do?”  
  
“No. That’s more than enough. Thank you.”  
  
“Of course,” Wylan said. “If anyone hurts you, you bring that to me, understood?”  
  
She nodded once more and he could only hope she meant it.  
  
Wylan had postponed any substantive conversation with Jesper and Marya until he handled this matter. Now that it was taken care of—hopefully, if only for now—he found Jesper and Marya in the parlor, a checkers board between them. The day they discovered a mutual love of games was one of the best in the past year, because it was when Jesper and Marya became companions to one another even without Wylan there, when they realized they had something besides Wylan in common.  
  
“Is everything all right?” Marya asked.  
  
Wylan nodded. “It’s fine, Mama. A misunderstanding.” He had conveniently omitted that little fact about Agata when he introduced her to Marya. “How are you?”  
  
Marya recounted her day; it had been routine, something that helped her stay grounded even after a year at home.  
  
Jesper told Wylan all about the Exchange, with more enthusiasm than Wylan would feel for himself. Wylan still worried about the level of risk and how it might sink its claws into Jesper—but he couldn’t deny Jesper was brilliant. His analysis of the markets was always fascinating.  
  
Wylan, by contrast, told a story about Cornelia gripping his fingers tight and taking careful, rounded steps. He had started calling her Neely for short. She seemed to like that.  
  
“What does she call you?” Marya wondered.  
  
“Nothing yet,” Wylan said. “Isn’t she too young to speak?”  
  
“Not at nearly a year old. You spoke before you were a year old.”  
  
“Well, she’s not a whole year, anyway,” Wylan reasoned. Now that she had put the idea in his head, though, Wylan could barely wait to find out what she would call him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was really unsure about posting this one, especially posting it now, and ultimately while I did have my reasons I'm still worrying about it. That said. Like most writers I'm a bundle of doubts and uncertainties, so if you're enjoying the fic or there's anything you want to see more/less/different, please leave a comment :) (if you don't I still love you for reading and being a fellow wesper fan)


	4. The Birthday Party

Alys was not a great intellectual, nor was she an especially gifted pianist, but she knew how to throw a party. It seemed her parents had indulged her on this one. The first floor of the house was decorated generously, and there were more guests and refreshments than Wylan cared to count.  
  
He found himself expected to participate in games with the others around his own age—Alys’s friends. He had never played ‘Twirl the Trencher’ before, but it was actually quite fun. They all sat in a circle and took turns keeping a plate spinning, but one never knew whose turn would arise next. There was a lot of shouting and laughter as someone would nearly miss their turn or not quite get there in time. Wylan found the mood contagious, himself on edge as well, never certain when one of his assigned terms might be called and it would be his turn to twirl the trencher.  
  
Would it have been like this, he wondered? If he were normal, would this have been his childhood?  
  
He was ashamed to enjoy himself. He wanted to be miserable, to hate it, much as he resented Alys’s parents refusing to acknowledge Jesper. Someone needed to be an adult in all of this, though. That someone, naturally, was a 19-year-old sharpshooter rather than the lawyer and grandfather who came closest to recognizing that Jesper existed by alluding to Wylan’s “dalliance”.  
  
“You have to go,” Jesper had said, “you should be there for your sister.”  
  
So here Wylan was, ashamed to be laughing right along with Alys and her friends.  
  
When the game had ended and everyone stood and stretched, a young man approached Wylan.  
  
“Excuse me,” he began, “but I heard you studied in Belendt.”  
  
“Belendt?” Wylan repeated. The question slid down his spine like ice. “Yes, briefly.”  
  
“I wonder if I might ask about your experiences. I’m hoping to study there myself—I’m a bit old to begin, I know, but there’s nothing better to me than my violin.”  
  
He seemed genuine. His passion for his music, his desire to study, seemed genuine. It helped shake Wylan out of his thoughts. This wasn’t about… the unpleasantness. This was simply a talk about music.  
  
What was Wylan supposed to say? He had never even been to Belendt! For a moment, his mind rushed in drowning panic, what did he say what did he—but he took a breath. He focused on the hazel eyes of Alys’s musical friend, the one who to harbor looked no ill intention.  
  
Wylan meant it when he said, “I wish I could help, but I wasn’t even at Belendt a full semester. There was some unpleasantness with my father.”  
  
“Oh—of course. I didn’t mean to—”  
  
“No, you didn’t,” Wylan interrupted. Once more he wasn’t one of them. He was one of the most powerful men in Ketterdam, and this young man was afraid of crossing him. “I only wish I could help.”  
  
From the next room, Alys called for everyone to come and cut the cake. Wylan gave the young man an apologetic smile; hopefully he knew all was well between them.  
  
The cake was an elaborate affair, two layers iced in white and decked with frosting roses in pink and red, topped with one single solitary candle. If anyone realized this was an absurd spectacle for a one-year-old, they didn’t say it. Wylan looked around the room. Only Marya seemed to share his misgivings.  
  
“The birthday girl is finally here!” Alys cried, reaching to take her daughter from the nanny. Wylan couldn’t recall her name—she was new.  
  
Cornelia jerked in Alys’s arms; Alys nearly dropped her. For a moment, Alys’s mask dropped. She showed her worry, her dismay. Was it his imagination, or had she showed that she did not fundamentally like her daughter? Then all was smooth and perfect as icing on the cake once more, Alys rallying, “She’s so excited, look at her!”  
  
Wylan was looking. The little jerks of her shoulders were not excitement.  
  
“Alys,” Wylan volunteered, “why don’t I take her outside for some air?”  
  
Alys looked almost confused. “It’s her birthday. She has to be here when we cut the cake!”  
  
It wasn’t out of thoughtlessness. It was, Wylan realized, ignorance. Alys simply thought what made _her _happy would make _anyone_ happy, and spent so little time caring for Cornelia she hadn’t a thorough sense of what made a baby happy.  
  
“Maybe she needs a nap,” the nanny suggested.  
  
“But it’s her party,” Alys objected.  
  
_No,_ Wylan thought,_ it__’s yours._  
  
Where were Alys’s parents in all of this? He didn’t expect Alys to be much of a mother, no one did. She was sweet but very silly and young.  
  
Marya placed a hand gently on her son’s arm.  
  
“Mama?”  
  
“This won’t end well, Wylan.”  
  
She was right.  
  
Alys jostled the baby in her arms. That started everything rolling downhill, and from there it couldn’t be stopped. Alys jostled her in the center of the birthday song, and Cornelia began to cry. It wasn’t long before the cries turned to screaming and thrashing.  
  
Wylan felt for Alys. She didn’t know any better. Still, she ought to have listened to the nanny.  
  
He had never seen a birthday party end worse. This one ended with both the birthday girl and her mother in tears, Cornelia howling and smashing her head on the floor. The nanny managed to carry her out, though Wylan later learned she quit that same day.  
  
“She’s a demon,” Alys sobbed. “She’s a demon.”  
  
As her friends comforted her, Wylan thought of his father’s words on Vellgeluk.  
  
_Boy or girl or beast with horns__…_  
  
Had his father brought this down on them?  
  
If so… what had he said before Wylan’s birth to curse himself with an illiterate son?  
  
Was there another, Wylan wondered. Ghezen, was there another sibling, one who did not survive the men Jan sent to kill them? Another wife with no son left to bring her home from the asylum?  
  


* * *

  
  
“Jan is in prison, Jesper’s here, Kaz is watching. I’m safe.”  
  
Wylan whispered his mantra, then shed his outer clothing—coat, mittens, and cap hung to their rightful places in the closet. It was only early autumn, but a steady drizzle chilled the city. Wylan rubbed his palm over his half-numb nose.  
  
From the scent in the house, he was late to dinner.  
  
“I’m sorry to keep you waiting,” he told Marya and Jesper, sliding into his seat at the head of the table. “Please eat without me next time.”  
  
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Jesper said.  
  
Wylan lifted Jesper’s hand and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. He looked good. He looked exhilarated, pupils blown wide, and Wylan realized he must have been using his Grisha abilities. The smile he gave Jesper could only be described as dazzling.  
  
“How was it today?” Marya asked.  
  
Wylan shook his head. “It’s so sad, Mama. I don’t know if Alys won’t hold her or Neely won’t let her. They can’t keep a nanny for very long.”  
  
“So sad,” Marya agreed. “Babies need to be held.”  
  
“I hold her,” he offered. He didn’t want his mother upset, so he didn’t mention that while he held Neely, Neely all too often seemed oblivious. She liked when he sang. Otherwise, she pretty much ignored everyone.  
  
“That’s good. Someone needs to.”  
  
Wylan agreed. It was why he visited nearly every day now. He knew what happened to children left alone with adults that did not love them. He knew his sister was a handful, but she was also just a baby.  
  
What he did not tell his mother and Jesper was that, secretly, Wylan wasn’t sure he disagreed with Alys’s parents and the nannies when they whispered about Neely. They thought something was wrong with her, that she wasn’t quite _there_. Wylan didn’t entirely disagree. He hadn’t been around many children before, but he was fairly certain they were supposed to reach out, to cuddle and smile. Neely wouldn’t do that… but Wylan wasn’t sure it was her fault. In the months since her party, Alys had become increasingly resentful of her daughter.  
  


* * *

  
  
Mostly, when Wylan visited, he let his sister crawl into his lap and rest her tiny, warm palms against his throat while he sang to her. She seemed to like that. Even he knew that wasn’t what babies were meant to be like, but it’s what she was like.  
  
“What if I taught you a song today?” he asked once, kneeling opposite her.  
  
Neely looked up from her blocks. She was building five towers with them—one each for the blue, red, yellow, green, and purple blocks. Wylan knew better than to interfere. He had once meant to help and put a yellow block in the green tower. She had knocked it over and hurled the block across the room, then sat in the rubble of her destroyed towers.  
  
Though she no longer had that scrunched-up, half-baked baby face, she still looked adorable, even when she sulked.  
  
“You can sing it with your hands, Neely, look,” Wylan said. “It goes like this.”  
  
He would sing most songs for her—nothing lewd, of course. Once, unable to think of anything else, he had sung the Fjerdan national anthem.  
  
Today’s was a simple song.  
  
_The incy-wincy spider went up the water spout_  
_Down came the rain and washed the spider out_  
_Up came the sun and dried up all the rain_  
_And the incy-wincy spider went up the spout again._  
  
Her normally set face went slack as Neely stared, rapt. Wylan felt his heart give a tentative swell. So often he took for granted that Neely even cared. He saw it now. He _felt_ it.  
  
He sang the song again.  
  
Her eyes were fixed on his hands.  
  
For the first time in her life, Wylan realized, he felt a connection with his sister as a person. When she crawled into his lap, he knew she accepted him. When she touched his throat, he knew he interested her. This… this was different. This was sharing something.  
  
On the third repeat, Neely scooted closer and put her hand against Wylan’s, tiny thumb up, tiny pointer finger out.  
  
_Ghezen and all his works!_  
  
Wylan couldn’t catch his breath for a moment, but no breath meant no song. He scrounged up the air for another round.  
  
Neely didn’t copy his movements but tried to be a part of them. Wylan helped her move her hand in time with his to be the other half of the spider legs. She put her hand on top of his to bring down the rain together, and their fingertips together to bring up the sun.  
  
When the incy-wincy spider crawled up the spout again, she laughed.  
  
She _laughed_.  
  
Wylan hadn’t heard her laugh in months. It felt like something shattering into shards of bright magic.  
  
It changed everything between them. Now when he visited, she came running to see him again. Wylan only really remembered that one song, but he asked around to collect more—though ‘Incy Wincy Spider’ remained her favorite, he learned the open-shut song, ‘Way Up In the Sky’, and, unhelpfully, a rhyme from Jesper about an empty church and a packed tavern.  
  
Now Neely would reach out to her brother. She proudly showed him her favorite soft toy, a floppy puppy stuffed animal. Wylan had no idea what he was supposed to do when she hugged the dog tight, then offered it out to him. So he hugged the dog and handed it back. With a huge grin, she hugged the dog again.  
  
Wylan knew she wasn’t normal, but he didn’t doubt that she loved him.


	5. Gone

  
In the nearly two years she had been home, Marya Hendriks had remembered herself and her life. She had come to know the present, to recognize it. But the asylum had left its scars on her, too, and for all she tried to be a mother to her son, sometimes she had bad days. On bad days, she had to weigh whether the best thing for Wylan was to know she was suffering and be granted some small comforts he could give her, or be spared sharing in her pain.

Wylan preferred to be let in. He needed to be let in—so when he came home to see a fretting look on her face as he removed his coat, he didn’t hesitate. He let the coat drop to the floor and closed the distance between them, reaching for her hands.

“Mama, what can I do?”

He didn’t ask what was wrong. Something was.

“You came straight from the Exchange?” she asked.

“Yes,” he confirmed, “everything’s fine there.”

She nodded.

Then she told him, “Alys is gone.”

“What—Alys? Gone where? What do you mean?”

“Gone, Wylan. She’s run off with a man.”

He couldn’t say he was honestly surprised by that. Alys was a flighty young woman with an easily romanced heart. She meant well enough, but her judgment was… hardly exceptional.

It hit him after a moment.

Marya saw when it did.

Wylan grabbed his coat off the floor.

“Don’t wait up, I may be late,” he said, already halfway out the door. He all but leapt into the first gondel taking on passengers.

He had his refrain for when he was afraid of his daily routine, afraid his sense of complacency masked a fresh horror. He reminded himself that his father was gone, Jesper was here, Kaz was watching. He didn’t have a refrain for times like this. Wylan didn’t know what, exactly, he was afraid of. The Tuinstras might not especially like their granddaughter, but they wouldn’t get rid of her, they wouldn’t… he wasn’t even certain. Just the expected outcome.

He should have taken a moment to compose himself.

Instead, he knocked on the door disheveled and short of breath. A maid showed him to Alys’s father’s office.

“Wylan,” said Mister Tuinstra with a solemn nod.

“Mister Tuinstra.”

Wylan had never gotten used to using his first name.

“I expect you’ve heard about Alys by now,” he said, his mouth drawing tight at her name.

Wylan nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“So,” Mister Tuinstra said. He motioned to the chairs at the opposite side of the desk. Wylan took a seat. So did Mister Tuinstra. “We don’t want the girl,” he said, not bothering with pleasantries, “there are homes for people like her—”

“I want her,” Wylan interrupted rudely, so quickly the words blurred together. He was acting on impulse, but also knew this was what he had intended the moment his mother told him about the situation. “She’s a Van Eck, she’s my responsibility.”

Mister Tuinstra hesitated. Wylan had hoped he wouldn’t. There were a million things he could want right now, and Wylan guessed some of them would be kruge. He assumed that had been the point, that initially Wylan was shown into the office with Tuinstra planning to debate how much of the asylum fees each would pay.

That wasn’t happening.

That was the fire burning under Wylan’s feet the whole way here, the reason he ran out the door instead of waiting until a decent hour tomorrow. The fear that what happened to his mother would happen to his sister, and he would fail again. He wouldn’t be there to stop it. Again.

To Wylan’s surprise, the look on Tuinstra’s face was sympathetic.

“Wylan,” he said, almost gently, “Cornelia isn’t right in her mind. Your desire to help is admirable, but you must understand, not everything can be recovered.”

Wylan nodded. Yes, he understood. Neely would never be whole. Just like he had never learned to read. But his life wasn’t so bad. He thought of the repressive atmosphere in Saint Hilde, and the way his sister smiled when they sang ‘Incy Wincy Spider’. She couldn’t go to a place like that. He wouldn’t let her go to a place without music.

Tuinstra sighed sadly. “All right. But take the information. I’ve done the research, it’s the best option,” he said, offering a stack of papers.

Wylan accepted them without a glance.

“I’ve raised three children, Wylan. She is… not common. If you deem her too much to manage, there would be no shame in it. In giving her up. You’re barely more than a child yourself.”

He wondered exactly how old Alys was. He wondered if she had been older than he was now when she married his father. Tuinstra’s tone was kind, but somehow, that made it worse. How could a man be kind to Wylan and talk about sending away his granddaughter in the same breath?

“May I see her tonight? I’ll have her things moved as soon as I can, but I’d like to see her.”

“Of course.”

Wylan didn’t need to be shown the way. He knew where the nursery was.

Neely sat with her knees hugged up to her chest beneath her nightgown, her back to the wall, a determined scowl and red-rimmed eyes. Her dark curls were a wild mane. She usually looked serious. Today she looked furious.

“Hey, Neely,” Wylan said, crouching to pick up her favorite toy. He called the stuffed animal Dog, since Neely hadn’t said what she called it.

He offered Dog to Neely. She took it and hurled it away with all the strength in her tiny body.

“What did poor Dog do to deserve that,” Wylan said, scooping up Dog again. 

He sat beside Neely, gave Dog a big hug and a kiss on its floppy ears, then offered it to Neely. She stared for a long moment, her eyes cold and hard, but Wylan was used to that. He waited out the stare. When she was ready, she took Dog, gave the stuffie an awkward hug and a kiss on the ears. There was an element of strangulation to the hug. Then she passed it back to Wylan.

He accepted the stuffed animal again.

“Dog is a good dog,” he said, giving the dog a cuddle. He had accepted that talking to babies required saying ridiculous sentences. “But she’s quite little, isn’t she? The world goes on around her no matter what she does. It’s not fair. It’s not fair at all being so little. But Dog is still a very, very good Dog.”

Her movements were jerky and sudden when Neely crawled into Wylan’s lap. She hugged Dog, then looked up at Wylan, expectant. He hugged her.

“It’s okay, Neely,” Wylan said.

She sniffled, something that, within moments, exploded into full-blown sobs racking her body.

“I know,” he said. “I know. It’s not fair being so little…”

He wondered how much she understood of what had happened. Did she know Alys had left her? Or was she upset by the changes in atmosphere? Did she know what her grandfather planned?

Wylan could see how a girl like Neely would seem ungrateful. By and large she didn’t care for the wealthy things given to her. She broke dolls and tore her nice clothes. She needed her affection to come slowly. If you didn’t take the time to understand her, she would seem awful.

When she had finished her crying, he asked, “Would you like to come live with me for a little while?”

She nodded.

“Okay. Then I’ll come back tomorrow and—”

A normal toddler’s reaction would have involved shrieking. Neely just grabbed his sleeve and held on like it was the onto it like a raft in a tempest.

“Neely, I don’t have things ready for you today,” he said.

He should have known explaining wouldn’t help. She didn’t like him leaving at the best of times. Today, she refused to let go, and the more he argued the worse Wylan felt. He knew what it was like to lose a parent. Worse, he knew what it was like to lose a parent and feel alone with the pain, and she was only a baby.

“Okay,” Wylan agreed, “let’s go talk to your grandfather.”

He wasn’t surprised when Tuinstra agreed, even when he stuffed a few things into a satchel. Wylan didn’t say a word about the exclusion of Neely’s favorite blanket, just picked it up and wrapped it around her.

The reality of Wylan’s decision settled into him as he walked home. He wasn’t overly worried about his safety—it was late, but he was only going from the Zelver to Geldin Districts. Even if he was especially vulnerable now. There were things he learned in the Barrel that he would never un-learn, and that wariness was one of them—even if Kaz did spare him the worst the Barrel had to offer, Wylan hadn’t known that, not for months. He still remembered how to feel a persistent fear.

But it was the days, the weeks… the years?… ahead that had him worried now. He didn’t doubt that he loved his sister, especially now, when she was asleep in his arms. But caring for her… he had barely managed to care for his mama almost two years ago, hadn’t managed. He could hire a nanny of course. Explain about Neely, explain that she was just different but—was this forever? 

Was he really agreeing to raise a child?

Where did one even find clothes for a child? How did he pick a school in a few years? Would she be able to go to school? What did he do if she was not? 

Not tutors. Ghezen, not tutors.

What was an almost-two-year-old even supposed to do all day?

He didn’t have anything more than the two changes of clothes stuffed into the satchel, her favorite blanket, and her Dog. He had no idea what he was doing. None. At all.

“We’ll be okay, Neely,” Wylan promised.

They were family.

They had each other.

(Maybe Jesper knew what to do in a situation like this?)

Jesper.

Did he know what had happened today? He probably did, he was much better at picking up on gossip than Wylan—better at actually talking to people. Marya would have mentioned it, if not. 

And—Wylan’s cheeks went hot at the thought, but—it wasn’t like he had never dreamed about the two of them raising children. Not quite like this, and obviously in any other situation they would talk about it first…

Wylan let himself into the house quietly. It was late, and hopefully his mother and Jesper had both gone to bed rather than wait up for Wylan to conclude his ridiculous errand. He wasn’t sure where to put Neely… the sitting room sofa, maybe? But it would be better if he could be there when she woke up. She had never been to the mansion on Geldstraat before. She would be confused.

“Wy?”

He had been so caught up in his thoughts, he hadn’t realized there was a light still on. He noticed now. Or rather, he noticed the lanky sharpshooter leaning against the doorjamb, a book held loosely in one hand.

Wylan shook his head. “You’re not waiting up for me, are you?”

“Of course I…” Jesper’s answer trailed off as he realized exactly what Wylan was carrying. His eyes went from Wylan, to Neely, to Wylan, to Neely, and finally back to Wylan. “Um. Gorgeous?”

“I didn’t know what else to do.”

Wylan stepped past Jesper into the sitting room and settled Neely on the seat of an armchair, tucking her blanket around her. He left Dog next to her, just in case she woke up.

“I know I should have asked,” he said before Jesper could get a word in edgewise. This wasn’t just Wylan’s home and he owed Jesper better, but it had been an emergency.

“She’s family,” Jesper replied. “How long do you think she’s here?”

Wylan looked back at his sister. Curled up on the chair, she looked like a normal child. Maybe not a child yet—but not a baby, either. Something in the middle.

“Okay,” Jesper said.

“What was I supposed to do? They were going to put her in an asylum and she’s not… normal… but I know she’s in there. She’s still a person, she’s just a different kind of person, she’s—”

“You’re not arguing with me,” Jesper said, pulling Wylan close. He was right—Wylan was arguing with the voices in his head, the memory of his father.

“How does a person do something like that.”

“I don’t know.”

“Hey.” Wylan pulled away just enough to look up at Jesper and, a moment later, kiss him. “You still want to be with me, right? Even with my mess of a family?”

“Umm…” Jesper replied, pretending to think about it.

Wylan laughed and shoved him. “Shut up.”

“Saints, I thought you merchers had manners.”

Wylan scoffed. “You’re a mercher now, too.”

“I beg your pardon, I am not a mercher. I’m a hero.”

“You are,” Wylan agreed, standing on tiptoe to press a gentle to kiss to Jesper’s lips. “You’re my hero.”

Jesper glanced at the sleeping girl, then back to Wylan. 

“We’re really doing this?”

“We’re really doing this,” Wylan confirmed with a nod. “We’ve got this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now the story can properly begin!


	6. These Things Happen

Wylan woke up confused, vaguely aware of a soreness throughout his body, and utterly disoriented. He groaned and rubbed his eyes. What… where…

The sofa, he realized. He had slept on the sofa. Then he rolled his head to the side and spotted his sister on the floor. She was chewing her blanket, rocking steadily.

Wylan groaned.

“Neely.”

She looked up at him steadily, then took the blanket out of her mouth, smiled, and waved. She replaced that corner of the blanket and went back to rocking.

“I have no idea what you do in the morning,” he realized. He had been by in the evenings, played with her and sung songs with her, but he wasn’t sure what a baby’s all-day was meant to look like.

Wylan sat up. Comfortable as the sofa was for sitting or snuggling (he and Jesper had thoroughly tested this theory), it wasn’t exactly the right place to sleep. His body felt like a giant bruise. He ran his fingers through his hair and his tongue over his teeth. Without even looking, he knew his shirt and trousers were horrifically rumpled. 

He was officially a mess. 

“Okay,” he said. He scrubbed his face with his palms, trying to wake up. “All right. I don’t need to be at the Exchange until nine bells and half chime. And you have some people to meet. Neely, you know my special friend I’ve told you about? My very, very best friend?”

She nodded.

Wylan smiled. Neely didn’t always listen. Sometimes it seemed she just liked his voice. But other times, he had been certain she was listening, and seeing her agree with information he shared previously made something inside Wylan shimmer.

“Do you want to meet him?”

Neely went back to rocking.

Wylan touched his thumb to his lip. He didn’t bite—he had broken himself of that bit of the habit, and had found that finger-on-lip looked thoughtful enough to basically be acceptable.

“Neely, we’re going to have breakfast with my friend today, and my mother. Do you remember her?” 

From your birthday party, he did not add. 

Neely didn’t answer him.

“Wy.”

He glanced at the doorway. Jesper leaned against the jamb just like he had last night, giving Wylan a lopsided grin.

“Morning, sunshine. Morning, little sunshine.”

Neely didn’t look up, but Wylan, despite having heard Jesper’s pet names more times than he could count, still smiled back like it was his personal duty to light up the world just for Jesper.

“Neely,” he said, “this is my friend Jesper.”

Still no response. 

Jesper sauntered over and crouched in front of her. “Cornelia? Hey. You might not know me, but I’ve wanted to meet you for such a long time. Your brother’s told me so much about you.”

No answer. Wylan half-frowned; this was just like Jesper to be so easy and so friendly, and it was just like Neely not to respond. Sometimes she didn’t. 

“Jes. Hey.” Wylan reached out and drew Jesper to his feet. He had grown in the past year and a half, enough that he didn’t need to stand on tiptoe for a kiss. But he did it anyway. “Neely’s shy with new people. Give her time to get to know you. She’ll love you as much as I do.”

“No one could love me as much as you do.”

Neely’s non-response didn’t seem to have bothered him at all. Wylan should have known—Jesper wasn’t easily phased by these things.

Jesper tried once more, this time approaching through something that clearly interested Neely. Her favorite stuffed animal sat nearby, and as she adored it, Wylan guessed that was a safe avenue.

“Who’s this?” Jesper asked, taking hold of Dog’s floppy ears.

Neely’s head snapped up. Her eyes widened and for a split second Wylan felt something falling—and she screamed. She _screamed._ Jesper startled and dropped Dog; Neely scooped her up and held her tight, shoulders curled around the toy. This was something Wylan had never seen from her. He had seen her upset. This… this was fury. She glared like a tiny baby bull, breath heaving, nostrils flaring.

Wylan approached her slowly. “Neely, it’s okay. Jesper didn’t mean to hurt Dog.”

He didn’t think arguing that Dog was an inanimate object with no physical sensations would do any good. She felt otherwise. And she was a baby.

She shook her head.

Wylan looked to Jesper. When he didn’t say anything, Wylan prompted, “Jes?”

“I didn’t realize,” Jesper said, and Wylan was already thinking of what he could do to make this up to him. 

“See? Jesper’s very nice, like I’ve told you.”

Neely shook her head again, clutching Dog.

“Why don’t we all have some breakfast? You can hold onto Dog, keep her safe. Neely, I’m going to pick you up now.”

He had found that helped. If she knew what was coming, she was less upset about it.

Wylan picked her up. Neely settled in his arms, though she continued casting angry glares at Jesper.

“Come on, Van Ecks,” Jesper said, slipping an arm around Wylan’s waist.

Neely tapped her palm against Wylan’s chest.

“It’s okay,” Wylan told her.

He had never been more grateful to see a cup of coffee and gulped half of it in one swallow, even before saying, “Good morning, Mama.”

“Good morning, Wylan. Neely,” Marya said. She had met Neely before, but did not have the relationship with her that Wylan had built. He wasn’t entirely surprised when Neely replied by patting his chest again. “Last night went well?”

Wylan nodded. “It was fine,” he said, setting his hand over Neely’s so she knew he remembered her. “Jes and I don’t have to be at the Exchange until later this morning, so I should be able to get Neely settled.”

“Wylan,” Marya said, surprised.

“It’s okay, Mama. We won’t be late for anything.”

“Maybe it’s best to stay home today.”

Wylan grabbed a pancake and stuffed it into his mouth, knowing he wasn’t displaying good manners, but he was hungry he was still tired, he didn’t know what he was going to do today.

“You need to hire a nanny,” Marya said.

He swallowed. “I know. I will.”

“Did anyone come with her?”

Wylan shook his head. “Mister Tuinstra said she quit.”

“We definitely need to hire a nanny,” Jesper agreed. 

Wylan didn’t dispute that. None of them knew how to raise a child—he and Jesper certainly didn’t, and he knew Marya hadn’t exactly been a primary caregiver when Wylan was small.

Neely patted Wylan’s chest again.

“Neely, shh.”

She whimpered and squirmed.

“It’s okay,” Wylan said, bouncing her gently.

“Marya’s right, though, Wy,” Jesper added. “You’re the only one she knows.”

With an insistent whine, Neely patted Wylan’s chest and this time she didn’t stop.

“She’s trying to tell you something,” Marya said.

“Stop that—” Wylan began.

Then stopped.

He knew what he was feeling, but he glanced down, anyway.

That was when Wylan realized how thoroughly he was in over his head, sore and tired and hungry, with no idea how to proceed, holding his now-crying baby sister who had just urinated over both of them. The whole situation hit him. He had barely taken care of himself today. He had no idea what he was doing. And now his shirt was soaked in pee.

While he was frozen, however, Jesper headed over to the kitchen and said they needed help from anyone who had raised a child. The nearest half-qualified person to assist was a maid named Jette, who plucked his sister out of his arms with an, “Oh, a bit of an accident. These things happen—you’ll have clean clothes for her, won’t you, Mister Van Eck?”

“Yes, the, um, the bag in the sitting room.”

Jette nodded. “I’ll look after her,” she offered, pitching her voice to be heard over Neely’s wails, “while you go and wash up.”

“Thank you,” Wylan said. He was surprised by how empty his arms felt; he hadn’t been holding Neely long, but the weight, the comfort of her against him… he missed it already. Ready to go upstairs to clean himself up, he paused at the sound of his mother’s voice.

“Wylan. You’re not going to the Exchange.”

He nodded. “Send a runner, would you? I need to wash up.”

“I’ll take care of it.”

Upstairs in the bathroom, Wylan stripped off his shirt and soaked a flannel in the basin. He mopped the mess off his skin, one thought bouncing louder and louder in his head: _We definitely have not got this._


	7. Day One

  
Wylan’s first day caring for his sister was a complete disaster from start to end.

Jette tried, then Wylan tried, to get Neely into one of the dresses her grandfather had sent for her, but she screamed and tore at it until finally Wylan gave up and left her in a shift. She looked like she had been through a round in the worst Barrel alley, damp patches under her arms, a determined set in her clenched teeth and hair like a cloud full of lightning. He doubted she would let him comb it down now.

“It’s indecent,” Marya said.

“She’s covered,” Wylan replied. 

She ate, or at least, he was fairly sure she ate, though she picked her food apart and only ate about a fifth of what was put in front of her. He didn’t know if she was doing it to spite him any more than he knew if the mess on the floor around her was incident or spite.

He let her run around the hallway because it got him a moment’s peace to do his work. He didn’t know what she did, but it looked like she had rolled around on the floor.

She cried in the evening until they tracked down Dog, who had been lost under the settee in the sitting room.

By the time she had finally fallen asleep, Wylan was ready to cry himself. Alys’s father had been good enough to send along Neely’s things, so he had a crib to set her into rather than… well, he didn’t know. He didn’t know where else he would have put her. He just knew he was physically, mentally, and emotionally exhausted. 

Crying or at least collapsing into an incoherent sleep seemed like the best options available. Unfortunately neither was practical. Instead, Wylan went down to the kitchen and bolted a late dinner down his throat. He checked in on the office, but either he had left things tidy or someone had come through and tidied up.

His eyelids felt like splintery floorboards by the time he reached the bedroom. He heard faint splashing from the washroom and had every intention of waiting for Jesper to finish his bath so they could have a few moments. He just wanted to get comfortable while he waited. Remaining vertical was… challenging. Wylan stripped to his shorts and crawled between the sheets. He just needed to rest. And rest his eyes…

The next thing he knew, Wylan jostled awake. He groaned in confused objection.

“Sorry, Wy. Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Glad you did,” Wylan replied, snuggling against Jesper. “Are you okay? You didn’t sign up for any of this.”

“Still have you in my bed, don’t I?” Jesper retorted, wrapping an arm around Wylan. Sometimes he still struggled to believe this was his reality, that he ended each night and started each morning in bed with someone so bright and perfect and inexplicably in love with a skiv like Wylan Van Eck.

“I believe I have you in my bed,” Wylan said.

Jesper laughed. “We have each other in our bed, then.”

“Always, love.”

“Anyway, I like some chaos now and again. And again. You’re the one who likes order.”

That wasn’t how Wylan quite understood the events of the day… but it was true. Wylan liked things to be safe. Oh, Jesper was walking chaos himself, but he was chaos Wylan trusted with his life so it was different. While Wylan focused on the questions and practicalities of having Neely here, maybe Jesper enjoyed the shakeup of their routine.

“I told her you’re trustworthy, but…”

Jesper sighed. It did seem to bother him, Neely’s glaring. “She’s like you.”

Like him? She had spent the day half-naked, making messes and shouting, and at this rate they were just going to have to cut her hair off because she wasn’t letting anyone fix it. She was a hurricane tearing into his life. He loved her, but he was starting to see why merchants handed their children off to nannies.

“She is,” Jesper insisted. “She’s a protector. She’s only angry with me because I hurt her dog. You get the same look when someone’s picking on anyone weaker.”

Put that way, it was… actually endearing. What an endearing little hurricane.

“Do you think I did a good job?” Wylan asked. “She cried so much and I let her spend the day naked.”

“Half-naked,” Jesper said. “Anyway, she’s a baby, who cares? I spent most of my childhood half-naked, you can ask my da. Apparently I didn’t like clothes.”

“Well, it’s one thing in Novyi Zem, climate’s more suited to… less clothes.”

“Wy, her mama left her and her grandparents got rid of her. She’s in a place she’s never been before surrounded by people she’s never met. She’s just a baby and she’s lost. And she’s your little sister. It’s your job to take care of her, not her job to be okay.”

Wylan hadn’t considered it that way and immediately felt shame creeping, because Jesper was right and Wylan had been a complete idiot—no. He pushed back against that thought. No, he made mistakes, but he was not an idiot. He had done his best today. He had been overwhelmed with each minute, hadn’t had a chance to stop and think. He had wanted to get her out of the house for so long, he hadn’t considered how lost Neely must feel.

He still felt like an idiot, not in words, but in the hot, prickling self-consciousness that washed over him.

“How did I not see that?” Wylan asked.

“Mm, maybe because you were busy trying to get her cleaned, dressed, and fed while not falling completely behind on the business?” Jesper suggested.

That was perfectly reasonable and it made Wylan focus on the things he had done right. He had got his sister through the day. Maybe, just for today—maybe that was enough.

“We’ll find a nanny tomorrow,” Wylan promised himself as much as Jesper. 

This would get better. It would be okay. 

He believed that. 

He even woke up with an aftertaste of relief the next morning—but only an aftertaste, because he woke up to screaming. It made the night feel like a blink separating two pieces of one very long day. Wylan stumbled to his feet on an adrenaline rush and found his trousers in the pre-dawn gloom.

“Don’t get up,” he told Jesper.

Jesper ignored that and followed Wylan to the nursery. He threw open the curtain, letting in enough light that they could make out shapes in the room. Everything was calm except the howling toddler.

Wylan picked her up.

“It’s okay,” he told her. Or himself. He held her and bounced her. “It’s okay, sweetpea. I’m here.”

Neely’s crying diminished to whimpers, then to hiccupping gasps. Wylan didn't realize until she was calm that his own heart had been thumping hard.

“It’s practically dawn,” Jesper said. “We staying up?”

“Day two,” Wylan replied. “Might as well.”


	8. The Nannies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Child abuse, homophobia (mild, but it’s there)

In the past two years, Wylan had gotten used to hiring. It was strange at first. He was used to being the afterthought, expected to stay out of the way. He had never been exactly rude to his father’s servants—at least, he didn’t think he had—just generally kept out of their way. Suddenly at sixteen he was not only central to the household but running it.  
  
Now, with a couple years of experience, Wylan felt more comfortable with the subject of new hires.  
  
That didn’t make finding a nanny any easier.  
  
It took two days to find Eline, an older woman with years of experience and references; she had dealt with difficult children before, she assured Wylan and Jesper, she knew how to handle these situations.  
  
“She’s not just difficult,” Wylan tried to explain.  
  
Maybe it would have gone differently if he had the words, but there wasn’t a name for how Neely was.  
  
“It’s always the same, there’ll be a difficult few days and a few tantrums, but it’ll pass,” Eline assured him. “Children simply need to learn who’s in charge. If they’ve been allowed too much freedom, they think it’s them.”  
  
Her tone worried him.  
  
“I don’t want her hit,” Wylan said.  
  
“Quite understood, Mister Van Eck.”  
  
He promised Neely he would be in the office, right nearby, that he wasn’t going away. Still Jesper had to all but drag him out of the nursery.  
  
They didn’t get much work done. They had barely reached the office when they heard Neely scream. Wylan only took a step before Jesper’s hand was on his arm.  
  
“Wy, don’t. Give Eline a chance to do her job.”  
  
“She’s in pain, Jes.” And Wylan heard that, and felt it tearing at him.  
  
“She’s in distress, it’s different.”  
  
“How is that better?”  
  
“Because it means she’s confused, not that she’s hurting.”  
  
Reluctantly, Wylan retreated to the office, but the screaming didn’t stop. It was joined by worrying thumps. The pitch changed. It turned high first, piercing. Then it was lower, raw and broken like foghorns.  
  
The screaming had stopped by lunchtime and Wylan risked a visit to the nursery. He couldn’t deny the progress. Neely was fully dressed and her hair had been brushed and braided. She sat in the corner, folded in on herself, rocking. Her face was red and streaked with tears.  
  
“This can’t be right.”  
  
She was so miserable and it was his job to protect her, and he wasn’t doing that, and it _hurt_.  
  
“She’s used to being in control,” Eline said. “She’s learning the right order. Doesn’t she look better, Mister Van Eck?”  
  
She did, but… but…  
  
Wylan made himself cede to Eline’s judgment. She had raised children before. He hadn’t.  
  
But he couldn’t stay in the mansion any longer. He found Marya out in the garden. She was painting the flowers and the canal in the background. What he wanted, what he really wanted, was to be a child again. He wanted to fall to his knees and bury his face in the skirt of her black wool gown. He wanted her to say magic words until he stopped seeing his sister’s miserable face.  
  
As he was not a child, Wylan sank onto a bench and asked, “Is it normal for a baby to cry so much?”  
  
Marya set her brush in a cup of water and sat beside Wylan. “There’s always been something different about her.”  
  
_There’s something different about me, too,_ Wylan thought. Maybe he had believed that he was different enough for it to make a difference, but he wasn’t the same different. Maybe he didn’t understand her at all.  
  
“Eline has worked for some very respectable families,” Marya tried.  
  
Wylan nodded.  
  
That evening, Wylan went into the nursery. Neely gave him an imploring look and tugged at her dress.  
  
“Okay, sweetpea.”  
  
He helped her off with it and had to stifle a gasp. Her arms were scored with red scratches.  
  
“Ghezen…”  
  
_He had heard her crying._ He had heard her crying all day and he hadn’t done anything, he hadn’t come up to see what was happening.  
  
Wylan wrapped Neely in a soft blanket she liked, then sat on the floor, leaned against the wall, and cradled her to his chest. Whatever she was, whatever word might one day be made for people like her, she deserved better. He hadn’t liked Eline. She seemed so cold. He had heard Neely crying all day… responsibility and failure tasted like metal, like old coins. He never wanted to let her out of his sight again.  
  
They were still there on the floor when Jesper found them.  
  
“There you are—”  
  
Jesper cut himself off when he fully took in the sight of them. He came into the nursery, picked up Dog, and offered her to Neely. She waited a long moment before reaching to take the animal.  
  
“Rough day?” Jesper asked, sitting beside Wylan.  
  
“Did your parents ever punish you for the way you were? When you couldn’t sit still, did they…”  
  
“Not really. For jokes, yes, but there were things I could’ve done with my energy besides making a monster costume and spooking the horse. Even if it was hilarious.”  
  
Wylan nodded. “I don’t want to punish Neely for being different. She didn’t choose this.”  
  
“Of course.”  
  
He shifted the blanket to show Jesper the marks on her arm.  
  
“Saints! That’s from today?”  
  
Wylan nodded again. His mouth was pressed into a thin line, the feeling he associated with anger. That was fair. He was angry. He was angry with Eline, angry with himself. He was angry with his father for bringing children into the world and not having the courage to care for them.  
  
Wylan sat with his sister for a long while, grateful to Jesper for understanding and giving them time. He managed to keep himself together long enough for Neely to fall asleep, but he felt something inside him crumbling into cold numbness after he settled her in the crib.  
  
He had let it happen to her just like it happened to him, and he utterly loathed himself.  
  


* * *

  
  
The following morning, Wylan confronted Eline about the injuries. She claimed Neely had done it to herself, that she had clawed at her own arms.  
  
“It’s what children do, Mister Van Eck, they’re defiant. It’s natural. Let her see it won’t do any good and she’ll stop.”  
  
Those sorts of injuries weren’t an _it just happens_ to him, though. He paid Eline for two days and asked her not to return.  
  
The day was not an easy one. Neely stayed close to Wylan but whimpered and squirmed when he picked her up. Mostly she hugged her dog and rocked. She ate some when food was put in front of her, communicated through her now-familiar tapping system when she needed the washroom, and napped curled up beneath his desk.  
  
That was the last straw. That was when Wylan put his head down on the desk and cried.  
  
“Mister Van Eck, you—oh, excuse me, sir.”  
  
He looked up to see a young woman backing out of the room.  
  
“No, it’s all right,” Wylan said, sniffling and wiping his eyes, “please, what did you need?”  
  
“Councilman Radmakker is here to see you. He says it’s urgent.”  
  
Wylan nodded. “Thank you, Jette.”  
  
“If you need a moment, I’m sure Sanne could distract him.”  
  
“I wouldn’t ask such a thing,” Wylan said. Though he had seen Sanne distract plenty of folks with her assets, he would never ask that of anyone in his employ.  
  
With a very solemn expression, Jette said, “Not at all, sir. You needn’t ask my cousin. Just give her a hint of idea.”  
  
Wylan chuckled. “Jette… thank you.”  
  
She smiled and gave a single nod.  
  
There was nothing else for it, really. When Wylan met Radmakker in the sitting room, he was wearing socks without shoes, his cardigan was rumpled—and was a cardigan—and he had his half-sister in his arms.  
  
“Jellen,” Wylan greeted the man.  
  
“Wylan. How are you? I heard about your… situation.”  
  
“I’m well, but I surmise this is not a social call.”  
  
Jellen Radmakker was sometimes foolish in Wylan’s esteem, but he was never anything shy of perfectly mannered. He never would have called unannounced were it not an important matter.  
  
“It is not,” Radmakker agreed. “I thought it only fair you should know that it has been formally announced the King of Ravka is in negotiations with Southerners for independence.”  
  
The Southern Colonies were going to gain independence? Internationally, this was huge. King Nikolai had taken a far different approach than his father to… most things, but this would be the first piece of the Ravkan colonies to be deconstructed if negotiations were successful. It would bring the West more into international treaties and agreements, even beyond what the Zemeni fleets had done.  
  
Wylan knew to the Kerch Merchant Council, this would be significant for trade. He wasn’t at all surprised by how Radmakker continued.  
  
“We’ll be holding an emergency meeting.”  
  
“You know the Council voted not to allow me full membership until after my eighteenth birthday,” Wylan pointed out. Though he wished he could attend the meeting, even when he did sit in, he usually was there only to observe.  
  
Radmakker nodded. “I know, and your ideas are… strange, but you’ve shown remarkable insight. You’ll be eighteen soon enough, Wylan.”  
  
He had shown the ability to listen to other people. Wylan kept that to himself, for now.  
  
He looked down at Neely, still asleep. He had her cradled safely in his lap, held close against him. The situation in the Southern Colonies was far more important than one person. How many thousands of babies, of brothers and sisters and parents and children were holding their breath for sovereignty in the Southern Colonies?  
  
If he left her tomorrow, she would spend the day screaming just like yesterday and believing she had been abandoned.  
  
Wylan sighed.  
  
“I’ll speak with Jesper about attending in my stead.”  
  
The Council wouldn’t listen to him, but they wouldn’t listen to Wylan, either. If either of them attended the meeting, it would be to learn and nothing more.  
  


* * *

  
  
The second nanny saw Neely in the worst throes of her lack of self-control and quit on the spot. She left the Van Eck mansion muttering about demons. When Jesper returned from the second day of a bickering Council meeting and heard the story, he laughed so hard Wylan stopped minding the loss of a second nanny in one week.  
  
The Council, Jesper reported, was doing a lot of speculating and not a lot of deciding.  
  
“King Nikolai doesn’t seem so easily offended,” Wylan said.  
  
“Radmakker, Dryden, and Van Aakster seem concerned about offending him. Boreg and Schenck are hoping to get him over a barrel.”  
  
Of course they did. How had Wylan forgotten that Hiram Schenck had a special hate for King Nikolai?  
  
The third nanny commented with a significant look at Jesper and Wylan that it was to be expected, a child so wrong, from coming up in such an environment.  
  
That was the day they cut Neely’s hair.  
  
“Do you understand?” Wylan asked. “You’ll have short hair like mine.”  
  
She nodded.  
  
“It’s just for a little while, to make it easier to care for.”  
  
Wylan cut Neely’s hair himself. He wouldn’t let anyone else do it. He cut off handfuls of her matted hair with sewing scissors and worked as smooth a hack job as he could manage on what remained.  
  
He expected tears, but Neely giggled and ran her fingers over and over through her short hair. She held out a handful of her own hair, then touched Wylan’s hair, then laughed more. Then she went back to playing with Dog. It was still her favorite.  
  
Marya shook her head. “What will it look like when people see her?” she asked.  
  
“Who’s going to?” Wylan replied.  
  
“Well if you take her out—”  
  
“Where would I take her, Mama?” Wylan snapped. Then he shook his head. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have used that tone with you, but right now I need to think about what we can all live with.”  
  
He could bear to see his sister short-haired and half-naked, playing happily. He could not bear the way he had seen her the day Eline was here, dolled up in pure agony.  
  
The best part of the day, though, was when Jesper came home from the Exchange—not only because he was Jesper and having him here made everything better, but because he looked happy. He looked exhilarated. It helped that he had been playing the stocks, not sitting in on another Council meeting, but that wasn’t the whole story.  
  
“Hey,” Wylan said, for once getting the first word in after a kiss. “I’m proud of you.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“I can tell you’ve been using your gifts.” Wylan squashed the instinct to ask if he had been careful. Of course he had. Jesper was reckless with all things except his powers; he wouldn’t have taken risks.  
  
“Oh.” Jesper smiled and kissed him again. “Didn’t know you were so easy to impress. Should I stop trying so hard?”  
  
Wylan laughed. “Jes?”  
  
“Hm.”  
  
“I love you to the moon and back.”


	9. How to Make a Stew in Winter

Wylan slipped into the kitchen. It was early yet, before Jesper or Neely had woken. His hope was he could get himself something to eat and get up to the nursery before Neely woke up, stop her panicking. At least then Jesper would get a good night’s sleep.  
  
To his surprise, he found he wasn’t the first to the kitchen.  
  
“Good morning, Miss Molenaar.”  
  
“Good morning, Mister Wylan.”  
  
She had worked for his father, known Wylan since he was a small child. He didn’t ask her to call him ‘Mister Van Eck’. He didn’t ask her to see him as a man, because a man didn’t have to ask. And because he trusted her.  
  
“You didn’t have to be here so early,” he said.  
  
He had only asked that something be left for him to have an early breakfast; he was expecting the last of yesterday’s bread and a jar of coffee. He would have handled it himself but going mucking about in her kitchen was like her mucking about in his office.  
  
Handing him a plate of warm, buttered honey cake, she said, “Do you know how to make a stew at the end of a bad winter?”  
  
He shook his head. He knew this was leading to a lesson, but he couldn’t guess what it was.  
  
“At the end of a bad winter, the last of your stores are running low, so you cook what you have. Whatever’s left in the pantry or that you can eke from the frozen ground, you put it in the pot. You work with what you have.”  
  
Wylan swallowed a mouthful of honey cake. “Oh,” he said.  
  
He hadn’t learned the lesson yet. Was this about his being a spoiled mercher boy? He knew that part.  
  
“You can’t keep a child cooped up like a prisoner, she needs sunshine.”  
  
“I can’t take her outside half-dressed.”  
  
She held up a little dress, merch black. There was something familiar about it, but he wasn’t certain why.  
  
“It’s one of her nightgowns. She’ll look fine as long as no one looks too close.” Miss Molenaar efficiently folded the little dress and set it on the chopping block. “You work with what you have.”  
  
Wylan understood now. Neely would wear her nightgowns and shifts without complaint. So Miss Molenaar had found a way to work with what they had and make Neely _look_ properly dressed, even when she wasn’t.  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
After breakfast, Wylan took the black-dyed nightgown and went up to the nursery to wait for his sister to wake up. When she did, she looked around, her eyes landed on him, and she smiled. She didn’t shout the way she usually did. Just smiled, and he remembered why he did what he did, why that first evening he had fallen in love with her.  
  
“Hey, Neely.”  
  
She stood up and reached for him. Wylan lifted her out of the crib.  
  
“Morning, sweetpea.” He pulled the curtains, letting the light spill in. “Ready for a big new day?”  
  
Things started well. She wore the black-dyed nightgown without complaint and he felt a tentative rise of joy when she smiled up at him. He tried to remember if she had smiled at all since coming to live with him. He tried to remember the last time he had seen her smile at all.  
  
“I love you.”  
  
She looked at him, then looked away.  
  
“Let’s go outside. Would you like that?” Wylan asked, offering his hand.  
  
She held onto him, clutching his hand tightly when they walked down the stairs. No matter how terrible things were, Wylan thought, they would always seem better when he watched Neely on the stairs. She held onto his hand, her other hand on the bannister, and with her tongue pinned between her lips, she placed both feet on one step. Then, intensely focusing, she lowered one foot to the next step. The next foot. And she stood there, seven inches lower than she had been before, looking up at him with such utter accomplishment in her eyes that he would have clapped if he had two hands free.  
  
Wylan didn’t care that it took more than a quarter of an hour to reach the ground floor. This was what he had wanted. When he brought Neely home, this was what he imagined. He thought it would be the two of them. That she would smile, like she was smiling now.  
  
He only half focused on his painting that morning. Neely explored the garden by the canal. She seemed okay on her own, but he kept an eye on her anyway, just in case she needed him. Mostly, rather than paint, he watched her. He watched as she batted the flowers, giggling when they bounced back at her; as she picked up a snail by its shell and boggled when it retreated into that same shell; as she chased after butterflies and squelched around in a pile of mud.  
  
She was a mess at the end of the day and he had barely painted a stroke, and he couldn’t care less.  
  
He was happy.  
  
_They_ were happy.

Finally, after what felt like years of being lost, Neely was happy and Jesper was using his powers frequently. Things were good.  
  
This, Wylan realized, was the best day she’d had since coming here. Given how things had been at the Tuinstras’, it might have been the best day she’d had her entire life.  
  
He wiped off the worst of the mud outside, but she was still too filthy for him to do anything but carry her directly to the washroom and plunk her in the tub.  
  
“Did you have fun today?” Wylan asked.  
  
Neely nodded.  
  
“Me, too.”  
  
He had never washed someone else’s hair before bringing her home and the first thing he had learned was that he really should have rolled up his sleeves first. He was comfortable with it now. Neely sat still, only splashing a bit while Wylan suds up her now-short hair.  
  
“You saw those orange butterflies and the snails,” he said. He had noticed it was very easy not to talk to Neely. She didn’t talk and Wylan wasn’t a chatterer usually, but if he didn’t talk, how could he expect her to? It was like he was saying she’d had her chance and lost it, or that she knew enough already.  
  
So Wylan made himself talk. He summarized what happened that day. He talked about what was happening now.  
  
He realized a problem, too.  
  
“I… didn’t check for a towel. Stay here, okay, Neely?”  
  
She nodded.  
  
Wylan worried about her leaving the tub anyway and leaving a trail of bathwater through the mansion. He would be quick. He hurried to the linen closet on the second floor, but as he approached, Wylan heard soft sobbing and knew he wouldn’t be returning to Neely in any rush. All right—he would clean up or at least apologize for any messes she made.  
  
“Agata,” Wylan said. He wasn’t surprised to find her here and didn’t need to ask why she was crying in the linen closet.  
  
“Oh—Mister Van Eck!”  
  
She didn’t apologize. Before, she might have, but this wasn’t the first time.  
  
He hugged her, letting her cry into his shoulder. Miss Meijer must have had a go at her again. Wylan wished he knew what to do about that. He simply… didn’t. He wasn’t certain how much Miss Meijer knew about his illiteracy, but he suspected she knew _something_. She certainly knew more than she let on about Jan’s secrets. So Wylan did not fire her and he could not protect Agata.  
  
“I’m so sorry for this,” he said. “I never expected… I promised you would be safe. I’m sorry.”  
  
“It’s better here,” Agata said.  
  
Wylan wasn’t nearly satisfied that _better_ was good enough, but he didn’t know what he could do. In the two years she had worked here, he hadn’t found a way to fix this.  
  
“I’ll keep working on it,” Wylan promised.  
  
“I know.”  
  
For now, assured that Agata was all right, he grabbed a towel and headed back toward the washroom. Someone was singing a Kerch lullaby. It wasn’t his mother; Wylan would have recognized the voice. He was surprised to find a member of his household guard in the washroom, sitting on the floor by the tub. She was singing softly. Neely had a paper boat in her hands.  
  
Wylan paused in the doorway. Should he worry about this? Neely seemed fine, but…  
  
“Mister Van Eck!” The young woman from the household guard scrambled to her feet. Janneke? Something… something disturbingly close to _Jan_, Wylan tried to remember. “I didn’t mean to intrude, but I saw your sister alone here and I didn’t want anything to happen to her.”  
  
“I appreciate that, though I’m sure she’s safe in the mansion.”  
  
The young woman looked away a moment, then back to Wylan. Her lower lip slid under her teeth. There was definitely something she should and didn’t want to say.  
  
“You can’t just leave a baby alone in the bath,” she blurted. “She could slip under the water. I’ve been watching my little brother since he was that big, I know what I’m talking about.”  
  
Janna. He remembered now, her name was Janna.  
  
“Thank you for watching her, Janna. I’ll keep that in mind about the bath.”  
  
Understanding she had been dismissed, Janna said, “Of course, Mister Van Eck.”  
  
Neely waved the paper boat as a goodbye.  
  
Could she really have slipped under the water? He lifted Neely out of the bath and wrapped her up in the towel. Next time, he would have the towel ready. He had no reason to suspect Janna was lying to him, there were just so many things Wylan didn’t know and hadn’t thought about.  
  
“Okay, Neely. Let’s go get you something clean to wear.” Wylan hesitated, then groaned. It was much too late to be catching this mistake. “Tell me something. Why did I give you a bath _before_ dinner?”  
  
Despite the bathtime mishaps, it was still the best day they’d had since Neely moved into the Van Eck mansion. She hugged him before he put her down for the night. Hugs weren’t a given with Neely; Wylan knew this was special.  
  
“I love you, too.”  
  
He meant it.  
  
He loved her. He was so happy about their day together.  
  
As he left the nursery, though, Wylan’s smile faltered. He wasn’t certain, he told himself. She was young enough for an early bedtime.  
  
Wylan continued telling himself things were fine as he and Marya shared a stilted conversation over dinner, but once the table was clear and his routines for the day officially completed, Wylan had to accept it.  
  
Jesper hadn’t come home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not the most salient aspect I know, but Janna is correct. Never leave a baby alone in the bath. Wylan was quite wrong to do so and I put that in to show that he's still very much figuring out what he's doing.


	10. Four Thousand Kruge

Jesper was not in Club Cumulus or Blue Paradise. Wylan optimistically tried some of the smaller gambling houses, but he knew he wouldn’t find Jesper there, either. He had no trouble gaining access looking as he did—who would turn away a merch in an expensive suit? He clearly had kruge to lose.  
  
Wylan wound a handkerchief through his fingers as he went down East Stave. Keeping his nervous hands busy was the only way he knew to keep from touching the pocket where his wallet was _hopefully_ still safe and giving away its location.  
  
He knew Jesper’s favored tables, but found Jesper at none of them.  
  
Wylan knew where he needed to go. He made his way up and down the Stave until, finally, he had to give in, until there wasn’t a credible shred of hope or denial that Jesper was still at the tables. Now Wylan had to _hope_ Jesper was at the Slat, because if he wasn’t, then Wylan didn’t know where he was. If he wasn’t at the Slat… then he could be anywhere.  
  
The Slat had never felt like home to Wylan. He never felt safe here. When he lived in the Barrel, he visited when he had to, but he didn’t belong. Sometimes he had wondered if things would get better if he had the tattoo. Not that he wanted the tattoo. He hadn’t even been sure he was allowed to get it, he assumed he needed Kaz’s permission, and would it really be permission? If he had ever proved himself enough that Kaz said he _could_ have the tattoo, would Wylan be allowed to say no?  
  
He had been a kid, lost and with no idea how the world worked.   
  
Now Wylan understood things much better. Now he strode into the Slat and gave a friendly nod at the three kids who scrambled to their feet.   
  
“Easy,” Wylan told them, “I’m not here to make trouble. I’m looking for Jesper Fahey.”  
  
“Never heard of him,” said one of the Dregs.  
  
Wylan didn’t recognize any of them. He supposed there was a lot of changeover in this line of work.   
  
“Then I’m looking for Brekker.”  
  
The three kids traded looks. They couldn’t have been older than fourteen, any of them.   
  
“Who?” asked a boy whose nose had been broken at least twice.   
  
Wylan reached into his pocket and was pleased to find ten kruge there. He had made it through the Barrel with cash on his person, that wasn’t nothing! Apparently the kids disagreed, because although one of them took the money, none said a word.  
  
Wylan sighed.  
  
“Keeg! Anika!”  
  
A door opened—the kitchen, Wylan remembered, and he supposed he should have checked there rather than try to talk to kids into helping him. Keeg was the same boy Wylan remembered, hardened by a few more years in the Barrel, but he looked well. Relative to his circumstances, he looked well.  
  
“Little merch,” Keeg greeted him. “He’s friendly,” he told the kids.  
  
Wylan nodded in greeting. “Seen Jesper tonight?”  
  
Keeg hesitated. Then he sent Wylan to the third floor.  
  
As he started up the stairs, Wylan felt a mix of hot, painful feelings. He supposed he ought to be relieved Jesper had come here. At least he had somewhere to be safe and sleep it off. Mostly, though, Wylan just hurt. He blamed Jesper for this, even though he knew Jesper couldn’t help it. He blamed Jesper for being weak, and he hated himself, because he knew it wasn’t Jesper’s fault. He blamed himself for pushing Jesper away and he hated himself for blaming himself, but why hadn’t he seen what Jesper needed? That Jesper needed _him?  
_  
Jesper relapsed. Accepting and forgiving that was part of being with him. He relapsed. He messed up. It had happened a few times in the past couple years and Wylan should have known after the past few stressful weeks that it was coming. Worse than the gambling, though, was the fact that Jesper had come _here_. Every other time, he had come home. The fact that Wylan had to come find him at the Slat felt like rejection.  
  
Wylan wasn’t stupid. He knew Jesper had loved Kaz for years before he so much as noticed Wylan, but hadn’t Wylan given everything he could? He had been loving and forgiving, and yes, needy, but he had been there. He and Jes. They just fit. They held each other through nightmares. They listened to each other’s fears in the dark and privacy of their bedroom, they saw the good in each other and accepted the bad. It was easy to blame himself for being too distracted or too needy, but they had built a good life together. Wylan had sat with Jesper through countless attempts to write to his father, had helped him accept his Grisha powers. He had given Jesper love and comfort and himself.   
  
And Jesper came back here. He came back to Kaz. Wylan wasn’t proud of the jealousy he felt. It was just a convenient place to sleep, he told himself, it didn’t mean anything, but it sure felt like he was being two-timed. He couldn’t help but wonder if Wylan had woken Jesper with one too many nightmares, or postponed one too many kisses until after work. He couldn’t help but fear that because he brought his sister home, Jesper didn’t want to be part of Wylan’s family anymore. That she was too broken for him to love.  
  
When he reached the room Jesper had crashed down in, Wylan paused outside. He took a deep breath and blew it out. All the hate and hurt and blame and disappointment he felt, he didn’t know which mattered most.  
  
Wylan opened the door just a crack. The room was dark and cramped; it was smaller than their closet at home and Jesper’s feet stuck out over the end of the cot. He hadn’t taken his boots off. The line of his shoulder was just as familiar as his soft snoring.  
  
Wylan hadn’t been sure how he would feel.   
  
Now he knew.   
  
He let himself into the little room, carefully shutting the door behind him. He removed his coat, folded it, and set it on the floor. He untied his shoes and slipped them off. Then, sock-clad feet muffled against the floor, he padded the few steps to the cot and sat on the edge of it. There wasn’t much space. In fact, when Wylan laid down and wrapped an arm around Jesper, he was half falling off the cot. It was worth it, though. It was worth it to be with Jesper.  
  
Jesper murmured, “I have a boyfriend.”  
  
The last uncertain part of Wylan’s heart warmed. It was easy to overthink and to ask himself impossible questions when he was alone. Seeing Jesper simplified everything. The situation was challenging, but they had each other. Things would be okay.   
  
And Jesper hadn’t left him.  
  
“Good answer,” Wylan said.  
  
He hadn’t set out to trick Jesper. He just wanted Jesper to know that Wylan was here for him. Still, it had been nice that Jesper’s automatic reaction to someone in his bed was polite rejection.  
  
“What—Wy?” The room was too dark to see, but Jesper reached for Wylan’s hand. “What are you doing here?”  
  
“What are you?” Wylan retorted.  
  
Jesper was silent.  
  
“Thought so. How bad?”  
  
“Four.”  
  
Four thousand kruge. It wasn’t the worst debt Jesper had racked up over the past two years.  
  
Wylan nodded. “I’ll take care of it tomorrow.” His tone left no room for argument. There would be no ‘I can win my way out’. He couldn’t. He would only lose his way deeper.  
  
Wylan knew he had shamed Jesper by asking, but there was no choice.   
  
“Why don’t we go away for a while?” Wylan suggested. “We’ll get out of the city. We’re overdue for a holiday. It won’t be… perfect, we’d have to bring Neely, but it would still be you and me.”   
  
After a moment, Jesper asked, “Do you think I hate your sister?”  
  
Didn’t he?  
  
“I think I never even asked you before I brought her home. I changed everything about our lives. You never got to say if you wanted that.”  
  
“Silly merchling,” Jesper murmured. “Think I don’t know you, but I do. You’ve wanted to be her papa since the day you met her. You decided to bring her home after her birthday. You are the only person who didn’t see this coming a mile off. I could never hate a baby. Just don’t blame me for not loving her yet.”  
  
A part of Wylan still wanted to ask _why_. If it wasn’t him, if it wasn’t Neely, why had Jesper relapsed? He knew it wasn’t so simple, though. It wasn’t something either of them knew how to put into words; it was something inside Jesper that neither of them fully understood. The need for an explanation was Wylan’s brokenness.  
  
Instead, he asked, “Then can we go home tonight?”  
  
“Demanding.”  
  
“Just think about our bed… with its soft mattress… nice, warm blankets… no lice…”  
  
“I forgot how spoiled you are.”  
  
Wylan, in fact, was quite spoiled. He knew that. He had lived a soft life aside from the half-year in the Barrel; he was used to warm meals and soft beds. But he remembered the look on Inej’s face that first morning she woke up in his house. He remembered how she smiled about the bed. He remembered Nina when she faced a good meal for the first time in weeks. Liking comforts wasn’t about being spoiled—and he didn’t believe Jesper, with his hearty appreciation for fine things and physical delights, preferred the Slat.   
  
He was just being a podge. But he was Wylan’s podge, and Wylan adored him too much to be frustrated.


	11. A Cresting Wave

Sometimes it was like someone else crawled inside Jesper’s skin, put him to sleep somewhere, walked around as him. He knew he had been there, been present for every moment, hell he had _liked_ every moment. It only stayed as flashes of memory. The sound of the cards shuffled, the way they slapped onto the table for a new round of three man bramble. The flash of bright colors around him, of too-big smiles and too-much skin. The taste of lager sliding down his throat.   
  
He had been there and he had felt it and he had loved it and he had hated every vivacious second.   
  
Jesper had never been sick. Grisha did not get sick. He imagined the aftermath was what sick felt like. By the time they reached the mansion on Geldstraat, he had felt it approaching, a cresting wave ready to break over him.   
  
He couldn’t deny Wylan knew exactly what to do.   
  
“Can you take your boots off?”  
  
Yes, yes he could, but he would much rather collapse on his side. Wasn’t Wylan the one talking up their nice, soft bed?   
  
Jesper collapsed on his side and Wylan pulled off his boots.  
  
“You were right,” Jesper said. “We have a fantastic bed.”  
  
“I’m going to need your help to get your trousers off.”  
  
Jesper laughed.  
  
“Yeah, I know,” Wylan said. The exasperation was expected. Somewhat less expected was kiss he pressed to Jesper’s mouth.  
  
“What the hell was that?”  
  
“It’s called ‘kissing’, it’s lots of fun.”  
  
Jesper opened his eyes properly. “You’re cross with me,” he observed.  
  
Wylan sighed. “I’m not. I’m not cross with you, I’m just tired.”  
  
“It’s barely midnight, you soft merch.”  
  
“I know. I’m weak. That’s why I need some mercy from you, big and strong as you are. It’s why you’re my hero, Jes.”  
  
With a heaving, theatrical sigh, Jesper picked himself up, stripped off his clothes, and crawled under the covers. Wylan joined him so quickly Jesper just knew that in an uncharacteristic move, Wylan had left his own clothing in a heap by the bed.   
  
The wave was crashing already, stinging anticipation. Jesper wrapped himself around Wylan, nuzzling against his chest.  
  
“It hurts.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
He didn’t _have_ to hurt. He didn’t even have to sleep. Another hand, another spin of makker’s wheel… he didn’t have to feel this way, and he hated Wylan for giving him a reason to, and he hated himself for hating Wylan. Wylan wrapped an arm around Jesper’s shoulders and wriggled enough to place his other hand on the back of Jesper’s head, cuddling him close and keeping him safe. Faintly, before he fell asleep, Jesper heard three bells chiming.  
  


* * *

  
  
Jesper woke up alone in the bed. He woke up well aware of what had happened, in the vaguest terms; he felt like the person who crawled into his skin had left, and now he ached dully everywhere. For a while he laid there on his belly, listening to Wylan moving around the room.  
  
Then he forced himself up onto one elbow.  
  
“Wy?”  
  
“Hey.” Wylan sat on the bed, near Jesper. “How are you feeling?”  
  
Jesper groaned.  
  
Wylan leaned in to kiss him. “Stay in bed, okay? I’ll be home soon.”  
  
“Don’t want to.”  
  
“You’re a terrible liar, Jesper Fahey,” Wylan said. He paused a long moment, stroking Jesper’s cheek. His touch was so warm and soft it was almost enough to send Jesper to sleep again.  
  
Jesper took Wylan’s fingers and pressed them to his lips. He wanted to tell Wylan that he loved him. He wanted to say that he was sorry, and he wanted to be angry and tell Wylan not to follow him into the Barrel again. That was the deal. Jesper was Wylan’s hero and Wylan was Jesper’s prince, and sometimes a prince needed to stay in his tower. But then, Jesper had broken the deal first. Heroes were meant to show up. It was the least a hero could do, showing up.  
  
He wanted to step back to the day he came home and didn’t admit he hadn’t been using his powers, hadn’t even been to the Exchange like Wylan believed but had spent the day on East Stave. That day, he had won. He was only up a few hundred kruge, but he was up. Maybe if he had admitted the truth then…  
  
“Hey.”  
  
Jesper didn’t realize he was crying until Wylan laid down next to him and hugged him.   
  
“I love you. I love you to the moon and back. You made a mistake, it doesn’t change anything.”  
  
Bastard.   
  
Couldn’t he have just picked a fight? Couldn’t he have called Jesper a loser so Jesper could be angry, or shouted at him so he could justify going right back and playing another hand? That was the trouble with Wylan, Jesper didn’t want to feel his pain and he didn’t want to stick around and he didn’t want to try to do better, and Wylan wouldn’t give him anything but reasons to stay.  
  
“Four thousand kruge, Wylan.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
Kaz would have tolerated it, but then, Kaz had tolerated quite a lot from Jesper as long as he kept his guns handy.  
  
What would anyone else have done? Someone who couldn’t afford to pay off Jesper’s debts like Wylan or buy them up like Kaz?  
  
Jesper punched out at the headboard; his fist connected with a satisfying and painful _crack_.   
  
“No, Jesper, don’t do that,” Wylan said, hurrying to shift his hold, wrap his arms around Jesper like he could possibly restrain him. “Please don’t do that.”  
  
He could feel the split in his knuckle and it barely drained off the roiling misery inside him. He hated it. He hated what he was and he hated being this way and he hated having to lie here in the midst of it.  
  
“This isn’t you. It’s just a bad day.”  
  
Then what _was_ he?  
  
“Wylan…”  
  
He couldn’t, though.  
  
“Could you get Sveta, please, this really hurts.”  
  
Wylan pressed a gentle kiss to Jesper’s shoulder. “I’ll come right back.”  
  
When he was alone, Jesper wiped his eyes on a pillowcase. His hand did hurt. He took a few deep breaths. His hand hurt, but it wasn’t about that. If he couldn’t put himself together, Wylan was getting hurt. And Jesper didn’t hurt Wylan.   
  
Jesper… tried not to hurt Wylan.  
  
He needed Wylan. He didn’t hate Wylan’s sister, he didn’t resent the time and energy Wylan put into caring for her, he just didn’t get what he needed. He needed _Wylan_. Far more than he had realized until Neely, Jesper needed Wylan, and if he said as much he knew Wylan would ensure Jesper had what he needed.   
  
That was who Wylan was. He loved with all his heart. Two years ago, Jesper had watched Wylan visit Olendaal every day. He had seen Wylan come home with bruises on his face or his eyes rimmed red from crying after visits with his confused, disoriented mother. Marya still didn’t know the extent not only of what Jan had done to her son, what Wylan let him do to get into the Church of Barter. That was for her.  
  
It was the same with Neely. There wasn’t as much pain, just an awful lot of awkward conversations with Alys, long evenings of worry.  
  
Jesper needed Wylan, but he didn’t want to need him the way Marya had and Neely did. He didn’t want his need to bring Wylan pain. He was supposed to be the strong one, the fighter, the zowa sharpshooter. Not the mess crying alone in their bed.  
  
_Alone._  
  
And then, very suddenly, he realized he wasn’t.  
  
Jesper startled.  
  
“What the—where’s Wylan?”  
  
Neely shrugged. She sat on the bed like it was perfectly reasonable for her to be there when Jesper wasn’t even sure how someone that small got herself onto a bed this high. She was chewing the neckline of her nightgown and had her ever-present Dog in her arms.  
  
Jesper normally didn’t mind Neely, but her sudden presence annoyed him. She shouldn’t be here—in his room, in his bed, while he was this way! He sniffed and wiped his face again.  
  
Neely thrust the dog at Jesper.  
  
“I can’t play with you right now.” He couldn’t do much of anything right now.  
  
Neely shook her head. She offered the dog once more.  
  
“No games.”   
  
How did Wylan tell her…? Jesper should have paid more attention.   
  
She scowled at him—great, just what he needed right now—then hugged her dog. She offered it to him one more time. Jesper stared. Was she… was she offering him the dog to hug? He reached for it, then hugged the dog the way Neely had.   
  
When Wylan returned with Sveta, Jesper was still cuddling Dog. Neely sat on Wylan’s side of the bed, hands pressed over her ears and rocking.


	12. Out of Ketterdam

Jesper regarded the cottage in all its disgusting pastoral cuteness. Its sturdy stone walls showed some wear, but not nearly enough to worry about, and the moss on the roof looked more picturesque than invasive. The rose bushes were downright lovely—perhaps ill-advised with a small child, but lovely.  
  
Oh, it wasn’t _rural_ precisely, simply one of many repulsively adorable cottages on a country road not far from the center of town.  
  
“This is horrific,” Jesper decreed.  
  
Wylan continued searching through his satchel and, without looking up, said, “You think so? I think it’s charming.”  
  
Jesper curled his lip. “It is, that’s the trouble, we’re staying in DeKappel’s full release.”  
  
Now Wylan did look up, staring at Jesper in wide-eyed horror.  
  
“Oh, what?”  
  
Wylan looked wordlessly from Jesper to Neely. She was holding his hand like Wylan instructed, currently stretching her arm up so she could hold Jesper’s hand while crouching to look at a cricket.  
  
Jesper rolled his eyes.  
  
“Must you be so…”  
  
“I must. I simply must.”  
  
Wylan sighed. “I’ve found the key,” he announced. “Ghezen be praised for it.”  
  
“Oooh, that’s _swearing_,” Jesper teased, grabbing their bag and following Wylan into the cottage. Neely took massive leaps; luckily with her little legs, Jesper could keep up easily.  
  
It was even more quaint on the inside. There was a wood-burning stove for heat (and nothing else, Jesper was _not_ cooking), a small table with benches pushed tidily beneath it, and a rag rug on the floor. Wylan pushed open the shutters to let the light in.  
  
“It’s so cute,” Jesper spat.  
  
Wylan grinned. “I like it.”  
  
“You would.”  
  
Jesper released Neely’s hand and let her run under the table.  
  
“You couldn’t have taken me to the Geldrenner for a few nights? We had to come to this… this… sweet little countryside?” Jesper asked, like he was asking why Wylan had decided to bed down in a swamp with a pillow of nettles.  
  
“What would you get at the Geldrenner that you don’t get at home?” Wylan asked.  
  
Jesper thought for a moment. Okay, granted, the mansion had comforts aplenty—soft bed, good food, his boyfriend…  
  
“The waffles are better.”  
  
Wylan was quiet for a minute. Then, “I’ll take you for breakfast when we’re back in Ketterdam.”  
  
“Every day for a month.”  
  
“A week.”  
  
“A mo—”  
  
Wylan interrupted him with a kiss. Normally, when Wylan kissed Jesper, it was gentle, almost chaste. He would press his lips to Jesper’s knuckles or shoulder or cheek. It was rare Wylan initiated a kiss like this, but when he did, he stole Jesper’s breath and lit fireworks in his brain just like he had that very first time.  
  
“A week,” Wylan repeated while Jesper was still catching his breath, a look of triumph on his smug little face.  
  
Brat.  
  
“A week,” Jesper agreed.  
  
They had left Ketterdam late and had just a few hours of daylight to enjoy. There would be more tomorrow, of course.  
  
They looked around the town, finding out just what they had got themselves into. Jesper was honestly impressed with how quickly Wylan managed to get the debts paid and the three of them away from Ketterdam.  
  
The town itself wasn't tiny, but it sure wasn’t a city. Jesper consistently offered sarcastic remarks as they explored. Wylan did nothing to dissuade him by replying with those hopeful comments and bright, adorable smiles. Jesper, in turn, did nothing to dissuade Wylan by making a show of being grudging when he acknowledged that he loved Wylan.  
  
“See?” Wylan said. “It’s not such a bad holiday.”  
  
“Hmph. Maybe,” Jesper allowed, “but it’s only been an hour.”  
  
“Yeah, but it was a good hour.”  
  
Jesper sighed. “Must you be so pleasant? You’re ruining a perfectly good sulk.”  
  
“I’m sorry, my love. I’ll make it up to you.”  
  
“Damn right you will,” Jesper grumbled with a massive grin. “Hey, do you mind…?” He indicated a bookshop. He bought books often enough, but usually avoided doing so right in front of Wylan. It felt almost mean.  
  
Wylan shook his head. “You go on, we’ll be around.”  
  
Jesper couldn’t help his curiosity, but he wasn’t surprised to find options lacking in the little bookshop. They didn’t have anything he hadn’t already either read or rejected back in Ketterdam. He had always loved stories, loved to read adventures. For a while when Jesper was young, his da was so proud of his interest in the Saints… at least until he realized Jesper wasn’t drawn to religion, he just liked the gory and exciting bits. He kept reading the stories anyway.  
  
Jesper knew perfectly well that reading was one of the few activities his da had energy left for at the end of the day, after Ma died when he was trying to be more present but Jesper was still too young for the bigger work on the farm. The memories were some of Jesper’s fondest from that time. Even after he grew some, when he was able to help out and Colm was less exhausted at the end of the day, they read together.  
  
That didn’t make finding a book easier!  
  
Sure, he liked reading, but some genres were outright rejected. Speculative stuff was definitely off—_what if there were no Grisha?_ Um, the world would be boring. Some of the stories had some interesting ideas about a world that relied on steam power, and Jesper could enjoy them as long as they weren’t world-without-magic. That was too boring, too unrealistic, and frankly offensive. Still, being treated as a part of reality that could simply be blinked out of existence was better than the way Zemeni men were described in romance novels. Luckily Jesper didn’t like the genre anyway, because the descriptions made him cringe. It wasn’t great outside romance but it wasn’t as bad. Meanwhile men like Wylan only ever existed as prostitutes or sluts and never survived until the end.  
  
So Jesper avoided books about non-magic worlds or romance. Usually he liked crime novels, bloody as the Saints if possible, but there was nothing here he hadn’t already read. He found his attention drawn to something a little different. He drew a large book off the shelf and leafed through it. This was a nice edition, too, it had proper color illustrations instead of the thick-lined black-ink prints one usually found. He would have loved a book like this when he was a kid.  
  
Jesper was taking a risk here. He had no idea what Neely actually _liked_ aside from Wylan and dogs. If she hated the book, though—who was he kidding? If she didn’t enjoy the book, he would.  
  
He didn’t mention what sort of book he had purchased until that evening.  
  
Despite his grumbling, Jesper was pretty much enjoying himself. Wylan had made him use his powers before they left home—Jesper had grumbled through that, too, but he had to admit it put him in a much better place to enjoy being out of the city. About halfway through dinner, Neely had fallen asleep, which meant…  
  
“I’ve got you all to myself now,” Jesper observed. He grinned and lowered his voice as he said, “Just think of all the implications.”  
  
Wylan blushed. “We’re in a public place!” he said, like that had ever stopped Jesper before.  
  
“It’s a pub, Wy, these seats have seen worse.” Actually, this quaint pub in a sweet river town probably hadn’t seen worse. They could teach it a few things.  
  
Wylan’s blush deepened. “You’re the one who needed to dress up for a pub in the countryside.”  
  
“Pardon me for being beautiful in silk.”  
  
“You’re beautiful in anything. Or less,” Wylan added.  
  
He must have known that would make Jesper grin. It absolutely did.  
  
“I take it you’re enjoying yourself.”  
  
Jesper sighed, very put-upon, but he admitted, “I am, actually, this is lovely. Thank you.”  
  
Wylan smiled and Jesper remembered how he had felt when Wylan crawled into bed beside him at the Slat. Before he knew the second person in the bed was Wylan, he wanted it to be Wylan. Having Wylan beside him, focused on him, soothed Jesper. He had Wylan, had someone who would hold him here when he threatened to float away.  
  
And somehow the words that popped out of Jesper’s mouth next were, “Have you thought about the Southern Colonies trip?”  
  
Wylan groaned. “I haven’t. I’m sorry. I agree we should go as soon as it’s appropriate.”  
  
It was the ‘appropriate’ that was so delicate. When the Colonies entered into negotiations with King Nikolai, no one knew what sort of timeline to expect; King Nikolai wanted enough time to remove all Ravkan citizens home to Ravka—those interested, anyway—while the Colonies overall recognized that they couldn’t build a government overnight and losing all bureaucratic staffing immediately could be a disaster.  
  
“Earlier,” Jesper suggested. Lowering his voice and leaning closer, he added, “We both know Nikolai Lantsov doesn’t care.”  
  
That much was true; they had both met the Ravkan king and knew he wasn’t the type to get into a spat over a too-eager trading agreement. It was especially true since the Van Eck shipping company worked a little side business with the Ravkan government. It was amazing how much less paperwork was required of a trading ship than a government vessel, and Grisha could be smuggled just as safely.  
  
Wylan didn’t like the idea of taking risks. “We don’t want anyone thinking we have any sort of… agreements with him.”  
  
Especially since it was true.  
  
Jesper shrugged. “Strymakt Fjerda.”  
  
Fjerdan might. The Fjerdans did manufacture the second-best artillery on the True Sea—after the Zemeni, of course. Arguably, anyway, but Jesper knew Wylan's opinion. Wylan didn’t tend to turn his thoughts there more often than he had to; with his position on the Merchant Council, he already knew more than he wished to about the weaponry his own country was developing.  
  
But if shipping weaponry was truly the best way to get a foothold in the South…  
  
“So it’s true?” Wylan asked, head tilted in thought. “The zealotry in the far west?”  
  
Jesper nodded. “We have it in Novyi Zem, too, on the far border.”  
  
“It just sounds so made up.”  
  
“It’s not.” And the years of foreign rule left the Colonies ill-prepared to defend themselves. “The colonies actually started that way, with a legitimate request for help, the Ravkans just… didn’t leave. It’s worse than Djel, too, if Ravka leaves the Colonies without them having a ready military, Grisha and people like us will be in a lot of trouble—what?”  
  
“I didn’t say anything.”  
  
Two years together and he thought he had to say it out loud?  
  
“You didn’t have to. I know scheming face when I see it.”  
  
“We’ll talk about this later.” Wylan gave a significant look around.  
  
Oh, he was really planning something if he didn’t want to discuss it in public! Jesper felt a shiver of excitement. He didn’t know how Wylan stayed so gathered and professional-looking; he was plotting something, probably something illegal, sitting there cradling his sleeping sister in his lap and eating his vegetables.  
  


After they left the pub, they faced a short walk back to their temporary home.  
  
“Are you going to tell me about that idea now?” Jesper prompted.  
  
Wylan shook his head. “When we get back.” He shifted Neely in his arms.  
  
“Let me take her.”  
  
“Thanks.”  
  
Wylan wasn’t as weak as he had been in the Barrel, but Jesper was still the stronger of the pair. He was never sure how strong Wylan actually was, because Jesper liked being stronger—he liked being Wylan’s hero, and Wylan indulged him. He let the bag with his new book slid down his arm and took Neely. She wasn’t so heavy, and she settled without waking, resting her cheek against his shoulder.  
  
“I’ve been thinking about the Southern Colonies. Obviously I’ll have to stick with making purely business overtures, at least to begin, but it’ll still be political support. I can only hope that doesn’t upset the Council.”  
  
Jesper hoped it did, but mostly because he didn’t overly care for certain members of the Merchant Council.  
  
“You waiting to hear back from the Ravkans?” Jesper asked.  
  
They had written to the Ravkan government stating their intent, that the Van Eck shipping company would express its interest and willingness in trading in the Southern Colonies as soon as was reasonable, to show respect to those in the South without slighting Ravka. Somehow a couple of teenage boys found themselves attempting to navigate relations between three governments in a way that let them sleep peacefully at night.  
  
Wylan nodded. “I’d prefer not to blindside them.”  
  
Neely stirred. Jesper tried giving her a little bounce to settle her, but she woke with a whimper, lifting her head and pulling away from him.  
  
“It’s okay,” Wylan told her, but Neely reached for him and whimpered louder, squirming until Jesper passed her back to Wylan. “It’s okay. I’m right here. You’re okay. Sorry,” he added softly.  
  
Jesper nodded like it didn’t bother him. How long would this go on? He had picked up her dog the wrong way _once_!  
  
“She was just surprised. Isn’t that right, Neely?”  
  
She held on tighter to Wylan.  
  
When they returned to the ridiculously cute cottage, Jesper left Wylan to put his sister to bed—well, to tuck her in on the settee, anyway. Jesper headed into the bedroom. They didn’t use gas lights—sodding countryside—so he struck a match and lit the lantern. One thing he knew about the middle of nowhere, one never could predict when it would be necessary to drive some possum or something equally annoying out of the house. In deference to Wylan’s sensibilities, Jesper had brought pajama trousers. He had no doubt Wylan would _try_ to resolve any possum incidents that should arise and no doubt it would be hilarious, but for actually getting rid of a possum… well, Jesper would handle that.  
  
He changed his clothes before taking out the book and sitting on the side of the bed, leafing through. It really was a nice book. The pictures were nicely done. The stories as he skimmed through them were sweet enough, simple, kids’ stuff.  
  
“Jes?” Wylan asked.  
  
Jesper closed the book and set it aside, but Wylan was already speaking before he could get a word out.  
  
“I’m so sorry, I don’t know what gets into her.”  
  
Jesper shook his head. It wasn’t Wylan’s fault. “It’s fine.”  
  
“It’s not. It’s not, I don’t… I’m sorry.”  
  
“This isn’t your fault. Hey.”  
  
Jesper pulled Wylan close against him. Wylan was standing and Jesper sitting down, so Jesper looked up at Wylan. Maybe it was the closeness. Maybe it was just Wylan. Maybe it was the fact that it had been a while and his gorgeous boyfriend was currently between his legs anyway.  
  
With a grin and a significant glance toward the cottage’s main room, Jesper asked, “Is she asleep?”  
  
“I think so, or just about.”  
  
“So… if we’re quiet about it…”  
  
Wylan wasn’t blushing, so he hadn’t picked up on the implication yet. Jesper placed a hand on Wylan’s thigh—ah, now _that_ was the gasp of someone who knew what he meant!  
  
“Jesper, these aren’t even our sheets!” Wylan objected, blushing beautifully.  
  
Saints, he was impossible to resist when he was like this.  
  
“Who said anything about using the bed?”  
  


* * *

  
  
Jesper awoke in the dark.  
  
Geldstraat was quieter than the Barrel by a far cry. There weren’t the cries and carousers; Jesper had only once woken to the sound of someone vomiting on Geldstraat and that had been Wylan coming down with a stomach flu. The mansion on Geldstraat had a determined sort of quiet. It was intentionally made that way.  
  
The countryside was different. This wasn’t the country properly, but it was sparse enough that Jesper could lie in bed and listen to a nearby creek murmuring in the night, the trees rustling. There were insects out there and he heard an owl call.  
  
Wylan was asleep against him. Jesper carefully peeled away from his boyfriend, managing to leave the bed without waking him.  
  
He would have happily stayed under the covers with Wylan, but Jesper needed to use the washroom. He left the bedroom quietly and took care of what he needed to. He intended to return to the bedroom, but paused when he heard sounds from the main room. It wasn’t loud. It was just enough to tell him that Neely was most definitely not asleep.  
  
Jesper hesitated.  
  
He _should_. He should check in on her. But what if he didn’t? Who would know or care, really, he _wanted_ to be back in bed.  
  
With a sigh, he looked into the main room.  
  
“Hey, Neely.”  
  
The window let in enough moonlight and Jesper’s eyes had adjusted enough to the dark that he could see she was sitting up, rocking gently. She looked up when she heard his voice, rubbed her eyes, and looked again.  
  
“You okay?”  
  
She put her arms up. Jesper hesitated, then carefully lifted Neely. This time she hugged his neck and babbled something. He couldn’t understand what she meant; she was probably scared of the new place, Jesper thought. He didn’t think she had been out of the city before.  
  
Although Neely seemed somewhat distressed, she settled easily enough. She kept insisting on that one word, though. Jesper wasn’t sure if it meant something or was the only word she could say.  
  
“Come on,” he said, “I’ll take you to Wylan.”  
  
He carried her into the bedroom and settled her under the covers where he had been sleeping earlier. She said her word again as she cuddled close to her brother.  
  
“Yeah, you’re welcome.”  
  
Luckily while Jesper had been sleeping like a normal person, Wylan had been sleeping halfway on top of Jesper. It left plenty of space on the bed for Jesper to settle behind Wylan. He slipped an arm around Wylan’s waist, briefly surprised he hadn’t woken. How had Wylan survived the Barrel sleeping like this? Jesper didn’t know. He was just glad he did.


	13. Whiskers and Sunshine

He was used to waking up tired from long, exhausting days filled with howling and tears.  
  
He was used to waking up shaking in the middle of the night because his father’s voice was in his head again.  
  
But… he was used to waking up this way, too. He was used to waking up well-rested and comfortable and safe in Jesper’s arms. Today was even more special because when Wylan opened his eyes, he realized Neely was cuddled up against him. She looked so peaceful. She looked like a normal little kid who could be happy.  
  
“Jes?” Wylan asked softly, testing if Jesper was awake yet.  
  
Jesper said nothing.  
  
“I love you.”  
  
Still Jesper was quiet, breathing steadily. He was asleep.  
  
Wylan slipped from the bed as carefully as he could. He worried about leaving Jesper and Neely alone, but if he could be quick he could bring back breakfast before either of them woke. He changed quietly, pulling his trousers under his nightshirt, shucking off the nightshirt and pulling on a shirt in its place. He paused for a moment, ghosting a fingertip over the bruises on his hips.  
  
Wylan cast one final look at the two sleeping forms on the bed, tucked the covers around both of them, then slipped from the cottage.  
  
It wasn’t a long walk into town and Wylan moved more quickly than he had last night since he wasn’t carrying a toddler. Neely could vary wildly in how she reacted to Jesper. After last night, Wylan knew he probably was doing wrong by both of them. He wanted to be home before she woke up.  
  
When he opened the cottage door not long after, Wylan heard Jesper speaking: “…and the rabbit took her kits home and fed them tea and toast with jam, then she licked their whiskers and tucked them into bed. ‘Good night, my little bunnies,’ she said. ‘Be good tomorrow.’ ‘We will,’ promised the kits, and dreamed of the next day and its adventures.”  
  
They were on the sofa together. Jesper had clearly decided on a thoroughly Barrel look today, and the yellow trousers and wine-red plaid shirt were… quite the combination. He had a book on his lap. Wylan couldn’t read the words, of course, but he saw the picture of three baby bunnies snuggled together under blankets. It was nearly half as heartwarming as seeing his sister leaning against Jesper, following along as he read, and Jesper’s hand on her shoulder.  
  
“Hey, you two.” Wylan hadn’t wanted to interrupt the story. Now he swooped in to kiss Neely’s forehead.  
  
“I don’t get a forehead kiss?”  
  
“Nope,” Wylan replied, kissing Jesper’s lips.  
  
“You drive a hard bargain, Van Eck.”  
  
Wylan laughed. “No, I don’t. I brought breakfast.”  
  
“I knew I loved you for a reason.”  
  
Normally Wylan erred on the side of caution and actually ate a vegetable now and again, but he had known who he was shopping for and came home with banketstaaf—almond paste in flaky pastry—as well as bread, butter, and hagelslag. The little chocolate sprinkles brought out the fun-loving kid in anyone; even Wylan liked them. Breakfast was a merry affair of sweets and coffee.  
  
“I thought we could go for a walk by the river,” he suggested, “just… to get some fresh air.”  
  
What was the point in leaving Ketterdam to sit inside, after all!  
  
“Great idea,” Jesper agreed a bit too readily. Wylan eyed him warily—what was he up to? “Go and find your shoes, Neely, I think I saw them in the bedroom last.”  
  
She went and Jesper drew closed to Wylan.  
  
“I need to tell you what happened while you were out, when I started putting on my shirt, she threw her shoes at me—”  
  
“I’m s—”  
  
“Wy, _listen_,” Jesper said, cutting off the apology. They only had so long until Neely returned and clearly he wanted this said before she came back. “It was the same shirt from last night. I think… I think she doesn’t like silk. Remember the dresses she wouldn’t wear? The nice ones from her grandparents? The problem wasn’t me holding her. She just didn’t like the feeling of my shirt.”  
  
Could that really have been all this was? Wylan tried to remember when Neely had been at her fussiest—whenever they tried to put one of her nice dresses on her was certainly a standout, especially compared with how willingly she wore the black-dyed nightgown.  
  
“Okay,” Wylan agreed. “We know to avoid silk with her. That’s good.”  
  
Jesper shook his head. “It’s more than that. If I’m right, this means she’s just been responding to something that—that _hurts_.”  
  
This time Wylan understood. If Jesper was right, a lot of what Neely did was simply responding to physical perceptions of the world around her. That meant if they could keep the things that upset her—no, that _hurt_ her—away, they might be able to reach her. And that was huge. Wylan tended to just go along with whatever worked for Neely; he didn’t understand her, hadn’t thought he could.  
  
Maybe _he_ couldn’t. But Jesper could.  
  
Strangely, it made perfect sense. Wylan remembered the gouges on her arms the day Eline looked after her. Tried to look after her. If Neely had done it to herself, then she had been clawing at something that caused her pain, trying to get it away from her.  
  
Neely clomped back into the room, her shoes untied, and grinned up at them.  
  
“There you are!” Wylan scooped her up and set her on the table so he could tie her shoes.  
  
The aesthetic changed little on their walk. They wandered out of the town proper for a walk along a meandering river, and it was so horrifically peaceful and _Kerch_. As two of the most important people in his life were Kerch, however, Wylan knew Jesper was willing to overlook that. It helped that Wylan had an arm around Jesper’s waist and had tucked himself against Jesper’s side; he might not care for the scenery, but the company was ideal. Wylan had bought a toy for Neely, a light wooden butterfly on a stick, and she was deeply absorbed with making it flutter past the wildflowers.  
  
After a while of walking in peaceful silence, Jesper gave in: “Okay, fine!”  
  
“Jes?”  
  
“It’s… nice,” Jesper ceded.  
  
Wylan reached for Jesper hand and pressed it to his lips. “I know it’s not perfect—”  
  
“Wy—”  
  
“We’ll have a proper holiday soon—”  
  
“Wy, I like it despite the repulsive pastoral splendor. I like being here with you and Neely. You’re both my family.”  
  
It wasn’t lost on Wylan that none of them was miserable. Neely looked like a normal kid—aside from the haircut and the fact if you looked closely she was wearing a funerary nightgown, but she wasn’t closed off the way she usually was at home. With his sister happy, Wylan was different too, not the coiled spring he had been for the past few weeks. He wasn’t afraid for her, he could take his eyes off her for five seconds without that undercurrent of panic.  
  
As for Jesper, there was less tension in him. Last night had helped, but Wylan believed the morning had, too. There was no question left whether or not Neely hated him, she didn’t. She just didn’t like his shirt… which was familiar for Jesper!  
  
Almost like she was reading his mind, Neely ran back to them holding a sprig of lavender. She held it up to Jesper.  
  
“That’s for me?”  
  
She nodded.  
  
“Well, thank you very much, little sunshine.” He took the lavender and tucked it behind his ear. After she had bounced off again, Jesper remarked to Wylan, “Van Ecks are irresistible, you know.”  
  
“Mm, got nothing on Faheys. I adore you.”  
  
“You’re everything I want.”  
  
“Including not as good as you are at flirting!” Wylan said, only half teasing. Jesper would always be able to out-compliment Wylan, and Wylan still tried anyway.  
  
Now he smiled, but he didn’t feel it. If he were all Jesper wanted, he wouldn’t have found Jesper at the Slat, would he? Wylan had always known he was getting into a relationship with someone so much bigger and so much more than he was. He was good for Jesper, but was he _enough_ for Jesper? He told himself Jesper’s slip was on Jesper, but he didn’t feel that.  
  
Wylan’s two greatest fears, at least regarding his boyfriend, were that he couldn’t help Jesper and that he was actively harming him. He didn’t worry about Jesper leaving him, Jesper wouldn’t do that, but he did worry that Jesper would stay even if Wylan wasn’t enough for him. And he worried that his broken places would be too much. It was why he didn’t wake Jesper when he had nightmares. Wylan needed to carry his own weight, especially now that they had Neely.  
  
Though, today, she seemed okay. She kept running up to them with little treasures and Wylan soon found his pockets occupied with lost little stones.  
  
“Should I be reading anything into the fact that I got one gift and you’re up to about twelve?” Jesper asked.  
  
“Only if you want me reading into the fact that you got flowers and I got rocks,” Wylan replied.  
  
“I’m beautiful and you’re permanent.”  
  
Wylan stopped in his tracks, taking a moment because that was somehow utterly simple and deeply meaningful at the same time.  
  
“She’s _two_, sunshine, she’s not that complicated.”  
  
“Almost two. Maybe she didn’t realize your trousers have pockets.”  
  
They looked at each other for a moment, then burst out laughing. Wylan wasn’t even certain what the joke was. It just felt so good to laugh with Jesper.  
  
“It’s good not to worry,” Wylan said, leaning into Jesper again as they continued their walk. “When we go to the Southern Colonies, we’ll have to bring her, but she doesn’t seem to mind traveling.”  
  
There were so many things to consider about the shape of his life with someone new in it, especially someone so particular who couldn’t speak. Would she ever? He hoped she would, hoped they would get to know the person she was inside of her quirks. He had to believe there was such a person and today he had more hope of it than he ever had before. Today he saw more than just recognition, more than a simple knowledge in her eyes that _Wylan_ meant _safe_. If Jesper was right and Neely threw her shoes at him because he was going to wear a silk shirt, she was trying, in her own way, to tell them what she needed. She was bringing them pretty treasures on their walk to _say something_.  
  
If Jesper was right.  
  
Ghezen’s works, Wylan hoped Jesper was right.  
  
A strange motion caught his eye. Wylan turned to see Neely crouching and hopping in the grass.  
  
Jesper watched for a moment, then laughed. “Come on over here, kit,” he called. Neely hopped over to them and allowed him to pick her up. “You’ve got dirt on your whiskers,” he told her, brushing off her face. To Wylan, he explained, “A line from our story this morning.”  
  
Wylan just smiled and shook his head.  
  


* * *

  
  
That evening, back at the cottage—Wylan still thought it was cute—Jesper brought out the book again.  
  
“One story before bed,” he bargained.  
  
Neely clambered onto the settee that was serving as her bed and gave him an expectant grin. Wylan had to borrow Jesper for a quick kiss; he was so happy to see two of the most important people in his life getting along. He was thrilled to see his sister opening up to someone besides Wylan himself—and he was both pleased and utterly unsurprised that the person she opened up to was Jesper. How could anyone not adore him?  
  
Jesper replied with a one-armed hug, wrinkling Wylan’s shirt at the small of his back in a way that made his knees weak.  
  
“Don’t get too excited,” Jesper said, “what kind of Kerch girl doesn’t bargain?”  
  
“A special one,” Wylan replied, not missing a beat, though something unpleasant coiled in his belly. He didn’t let it show.  
  
Jesper sat beside Neely and opened the book. She settled against him; Wylan leaned against the wall, unable to keep from watching the scene in front of him. The story Jesper began to read included a curious puppy who wandered off its farm and got lost. The puppy was scared and very hungry and wished he was at home. The next day, he caught a rabbit and—  
  
Neely slapped her hand down on the page, scowling powerfully. Wylan straightened. He was ready to intervene when Jesper spoke up.  
  
“Hey, that’s not okay,” he said. “Remember what we talked about? What do you do when something’s upsetting you?”  
  
Neely scowled.  
  
“We talked about a code, Neely.” Jesper tapped the page and Neely copied him. “That’s right. One, two, three, four, just like that. Now, what’s wrong?”  
  
She held up Dog.  
  
“Yes, just like—ah. You don’t like the dog hurting the rabbit?”  
  
She nodded, lip jutting out.  
  
“Let me check on this.” Jesper turned a few pages, then reported, “It’s okay. They’re going to be friends. Let’s keep reading.”  
  
Neely hesitated, then slowly, warily nodded.  
  
Wylan barely held onto his words throughout the rest of the story, but managed to wait until Jesper had closed the book and tucked the blanket around Neely. He waited until they were in the bedroom.  
  
The moment the door clicked shut, Wylan said, “You’re amazing! That was _huge_. She trusted you. Jes… _Ghezen_. Jes.” He sounded like a fool and he didn’t care.  
  
Jesper laughed and pulled Wylan close. “You’re adorable.”  
  
“Yeah,” Wylan sighed, “but you’re a blessing.”


	14. Return to Ketterdam

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may have overcommitted myself just a touch and apologize for slow updates! 
> 
> Also, flannel really is Welsh in origin.

The holiday had been refreshing for all of them, but all good things must end, and Jesper and Wylan soon found themselves once more arriving at the mansion on Geldstraat. Jesper held their bag. Wylan held Neely, who had burrowed closer and closer against him as they approached. He couldn’t blame her. Ketterdam hadn’t been much of a home to her.  
  
“Well,” Jesper said, “I for one look forward to a bath without my knees up my nose!”  
  
Wylan laughed. “The tub wasn’t _that_ small.”  
  
“It was fine,” Jesper agreed. “For Neely.”  
  
“Hey, she’s growing,” Wylan objected, holding the door for Jesper.  
  
Jesper gladly handed their bag to a maid. For all he had teased Wylan about his posh upbringing, he had taken to the lifestyle himself easily.  
  
“So, we have the rest of the day,” Jesper said.  
  
Wylan nodded. “Then the meeting with the Kuipers tomorrow,” it had been the reason their trip was so short, “and I’m going to speak to Sanne about getting an appointment with a dressmaker.”  
  
At this, Neely made her opinion known, whining and squirming in Wylan’s grip.  
  
“It’s okay, sweetpea,” he promised, “you’ll come with me and we’ll only use fabrics you like. Ghezen and all his works, she’s going to sound spoiled, isn’t she?”  
  
In fact, if this continued, Wylan could only imagine how Neely would seem. He believed Jesper’s hypothesis, that she experienced physical pain rather than mere discomfort, because he had seen her hurt herself to make it go away. So they would get her dresses made from fabric that didn’t hurt, and he was already planning to replace some of his shirts, but that would only be the beginning. She wasn’t going to get more normal, he thought. She was going to become stranger.  
  
His fear was that she would become a stranger to him. His fear was that no matter what he and Jesper did, Neely would always be separate, a part of her own world.  
  
Jesper rolled his eyes. “A Van Eck? Spoiled? The _scandal!_”  
  
“Point taken.”  
  
“It’ll be in all the papers,” Jesper continued. “The talk of Ketterdam.”  
  
“Okay, Jes.”  
  
“A spoiled child in a mercher house?!”  
  
“Everyone will think they’re talking about you,” Wylan shot back.  
  
Jesper recoiled, clutching his chest. “I… I…”  
  
Wylan shook his head at the theatrics.  
  
It only encouraged Jesper, who pretended to cry.  
  
Neely made the sounds Wylan considered her attempts to speak, stretching to offer Dog.  
  
“Aaw,” Jesper almost cooed at her, “thank you.” He accepted the stuffed animal, gave it a cuddle, made a show of wiping his eyes, and returned Dog to Neely. It was so ridiculously sweet Wylan wasn’t sure if he wanted to kiss him or get down on one knee and propose marriage. Jesper would be such a good dad one day.  
  
Wylan didn’t know where that thought came from. But he knew it was right.  
  


* * *

>   
  
Dear Leoni,  
  
I’ve got a weird question for you. What makes someone a good sibling?  
  
Okay, now the explanation. Wylan has a little sister. She’s almost two and he adores her more than anything. (Don’t worry, he’s a sweet thing with a massive heart and adores me almost as much. You don’t have to come all the way to Kerch and punch him… or tell Nina.) Wy’s been visiting his former stepmother’s family since his sister was born. A couple weeks ago, his former stepmother ran away with her music teacher, and Wylan brought his sister home. I’d never met her. Her mother’s family doesn’t approve of us.  
  
Now Wylan’s sister, Neely, is our sister. We have this tiny stranger running around the house. And I messed up. I picked up her toy dog by the ears. Turns out she loves that dog more than anything. She may be starting to forgive me, but now what?  
  
I’ve never been a brother before and now I am. What do you think it means? What is a brother supposed to be or do? I thought I had an idea of it, but that was before I needed to actually be one.  
  
Jesper

* * *

  
  
That afternoon, Wylan spent the walk to the dressmaker’s preparing Neely, promising they wouldn’t get anything she didn’t like, and holding her hand while she chewed her other cuff and alternately goggled at the world and stared at the path beneath their feet. He wondered if she had spent much time outside Alys’s home.  
  
“Wylan Van Eck?”  
  
He turned. At first he couldn’t place the two young women approaching. He had seen them before somewhere—  
  
“Lisanne Visser, isn’t it? And… I’m sorry, I know we’ve met but I can’t recall your name.”  
  
“Grietje Tuinstra,” supplied the wide-eyed blond. Wylan thought a rude word. That’s where he had seen her—Neely’s disaster of a birthday party. “That’s my second cousin there, once removed.”  
  
Neely still had one hand clutched in Wylan’s. She wrapped the other arm around his leg and buried her face in his trousers.  
  
“Miss Tuinstra, of course,” Wylan said cordially.  
  
He took an immediate dislike to her from the mean glint in her eye and the curiosity in how Lisanne Visser looked at Neely like an animal in a menagerie. They had gossiped about her. About a _baby_. About Grietje’s kin.  
  
“How’s my little cousin?” Grietje asked.  
  
“She’s fine, just a little shy with strangers.”  
  
Grietje’s eyes met Wylan and he knew they each had the measure of the other. She looked away first.  
  
“We have an appointment to keep,” Wylan said. He unwrapped Neely’s arm from his leg and lifted her. “Do say hello to your father for me, Miss Visser.” He was a judge and had been friends with Wylan’s father. Their mothers were still friendly.  
  
Lisanne Visser nodded, cheeks coloring. “I will, Mister Van Eck.”  
  
Wylan didn’t say anything to Neely on the way to the dressmaker’s. He just held her and rubbed her back. He didn’t know how much she understood of that; of what she understood, he didn’t know how much she cared. He cared. If anyone had spoken about Wylan that way, looked at him that way, even a few years ago he would have cared.  
  
The dressmaker’s shop was just on the edges of Geldin and Zelver Districts. The shop itself was reasonably sized, but the building stretched on, with rolls of fabric and worktables in the back room.  
  
“Thank you for making the time, Mister Kleermaker.”  
  
_Between your money and my persuasive abilities,_ Sanne had said, _you can have whatever you want_.  
  
Wylan might not have put it so bluntly himself, but as Jesper burst out laughing, there wasn’t much he could do to protest.  
  
“Of course, Mister Van Eck.” Kleermaker was a small, bespectacled man who smiled at Neely and said, “This must be your sister.”  
  
Neely whimpered and flinched closer to Wylan.  
  
“She’s very shy,” he said, more gently than he had before. “It’s okay, sweetpea, Mister Kleermaker is going to help you get some clothes you like, remember?” She didn’t reply. “Mister Kleermaker, I hope you understand, this is an unusual situation and I am trusting your discretion.”  
  
“Of course,” the man said. “Of course.”  
  
“Neely is very sensitive to how things feel. I’d like to have her pick the cloth that’s comfortable for her but maybe you can help direct us. She’s fond of flannels.”  
  
“Flannel.” He was visibly surprised; it wasn’t often a member of the Merchant Council sought that particular material.  
  
“We do have some Kaelish in our family,” Wylan said, surprising himself. But then, Colm was his family. Wylan and Jesper had visited Novyi Zem, gone to see Jesper’s father. In the days Wylan spent with him, Colm Fahey had been more a father to him than Jan Van Eck ever was.  
  
Overall, the trip to the tailor’s went passably well, Wylan thought. Neely was able to indicate what she did and didn’t like. She needed Wylan holding her hand, but she stood still for Kleermaker to take her measurements. It was an awkward visit, to be sure, but Kleermaker gave Neely a sweet and Wylan a smile at the end of it.  
  
“Thank you,” Wylan said, because Neely couldn’t and because he meant it, too.

Maybe it was a small thing, a simple errand, but completing this simple task reassured Wylan that the larger tasks might also be possible. Maybe they would find a decent nanny. Maybe Wylan could go back to working properly… working with Jesper… maybe he could have more time with Jesper for non-work-related things.   
  
Of course, he knew things were about to become complicated with the Tuinstras and Vissers, he knew Neely would continue to be a challenge, but a deep-down part of Wylan simply _knew_ he would be okay as long as Jesper was beside him.


	15. The Advocaat Venture

Wylan's meeting with Maarten Kuiper should have been a simple one. It was influenced by an old friend: apparently Kaz never introduced Nina to Kerch advocaat waffles, and she had been outraged to learn that in her two years in the country she never experienced that particular delicacy. Had it been available in Ravka, she would have sniffed it out. So Wylan and Jesper had looked into a small side venture. Wylan already owned an unexpected monopoly on Kerch apple brandy. Why not use it for something other than a nationalistic cash flow?  
  
In fairness, according to Jesper and Marya, it was very good brandy.  
  
"It was good of him to reschedule," Wylan commented, pretending he wasn't nervous.  
  
Jesper rolled his eyes. "He's a craftsman and you're a member of the Merchant Council. He's hardly going to say no, merchling."  
  
He hadn't used that nickname in a while. Wylan raised his eyebrows.  
  
"What?" Jesper drew Wylan closer and squeezed his shoulders. "You think you're not my merchling anymore just because you got a merchling of your own? Doesn't work that way."  
  
Wylan couldn't help smiling. "My mistake."  
  
They were in the office, ostensibly working through reports until their potential business partner arrived but neither was keen to focus. Wylan was too torn in too many directions: the upcoming meeting, yes, that was one; and Neely, currently trailing Jette while her brother was busy; he still had his concerns about Jesper after the last relapse; and, of course, the minor matter of the dissolution of Ravka's colonial empire.  
  
"Anyway I'm not a proper member of the Council," Wylan reminded Jesper, tidying the papers on his desk.  
  
"For, what, three weeks?"  
  
Wylan looked up from his papers. Three weeks?  
  
Jesper blew out an exasperated breath. He leaned against the desk, arms folded. "Your birthday, Wylan."  
  
"Ghezen's works, I nearly forgot!"  
  
“Lucky we planned your party in advance, then.”  
  
Wylan groaned at the reminder. A birthday party, that was _just_ what he needed right now. “Don’t suppose there’s any way out of it?”  
  
“No.” Then, almost an afterthought, “Brat.”  
  
It wasn’t long before the Kuipers arrived, Maarten Kuiper and his son Arnoud, who was “learning the business, you know the way of it”. Wylan didn’t know the way of it, but he hadn’t told Kuiper as much. He had simply assured him that Arnoud was welcome to join the meeting. Kuiper was a big man, but paunchy with round shoulders from years of office work. Wylan had met the man before. It was the son he had not met and immediately distrusted. Arnoud had inherited his father’s size, but he wore it better, and he had meanness in his eyes.  
  
Wylan glanced at Jesper to see if he was as unsettled by the younger Kuiper. If he was, it didn’t show. Well—he _wouldn’t_ show it. Not Jesper.  
  
Agata had shown them in. Normally the task would have fallen to Jette or Sanne, but Sanne had taken ill that morning and Jette… Neely seemed fond enough of Jette. Wylan preferred not to risk unleashing her on the Kuipers, especially after his run-in with Grietje and Lisanne the other day.  
  
“If my mother can spare you, we’ll have tea for the meeting, please,” Wylan told her.  
  
“I’m sure she’ll manage another minute or two, Mister Van Eck,” Agata said.  
  
Of course she would. Not for the first time, Wylan faced the awkward reality that there was rank between himself and his mother. He thought of Novyi Zem, of the simple matters between Jesper and Colm—that Colm was Jesper’s da and that was that. Except Marya needed Wylan. Marya slipped sometimes, she needed Wylan to help her back. And it _was_ his house, technically.  
  
“Thank you for coming up to Geldin District for the meeting,” Wylan told Kuiper, “I’m Wylan Van Eck and this is Jesper Fahey.”  
  
Handshakes were traded and pleasantries exchanged; the four of them took seats as Wylan began explaining their planned project.  
  
“What we’re looking for,” he concluded as Agata returned with a tray bearing teapot, cups, saucers—secretly Wylan hoped there were biscuits, but he couldn’t tell from this angle, “is something distinctive. We want a bottle people can look at and know, that’s Van Eck advocaat.”  
  
“And something sturdy,” Jesper added, “which is why we came to you.”  
  
He had been the one to suggest the Kuipers, in fact. Wylan noted the look on Kuiper’s face. There was uncertainty, but pride, too. His regular business was a steady glassworks. It was reliable, but nothing exceptional—acceptable by Kerch standards, not the sort of thing to threaten the less successful on the Merchant Council. Poor Dryden still hadn’t found his footing.  
  
Wylan’s glance shifted to Arnoud Kuiper, who was giving Agata a filthy look.  
  
Wylan cleared his throat. “Thank you, Agata, that will be all.”  
  
He felt old saying the words, but his eyes met hers and he saw—he hoped—that she understood. He didn’t want her subjected to the unsettling young man’s lecherous gaze any longer than was necessary.  
  
With Agata out of the room, the meeting passed with relatively little occurrence. Wylan and Jesper made clear what they wanted. Maarten Kuiper listened, asked the occasional question. He looked at some sketches Wylan had prepared.  
  
The two put their heads together over the designs. Wylan could feel Jesper getting restless and he heard the _tink_ of a teacup being toyed with. He gave Jesper’s knee a squeeze under the desk.  
  
_It’s okay. I know. I’m here._  
  
“Excuse me, where’s your washroom?” asked Arnoud.  
  
“Down the hall to the left, the third door.”  
  
He nodded and stepped out. Wylan couldn’t help keeping an eye on him as he left, couldn’t help an unsettled feeling after he did. This was not someone he trusted to be walking around his house.  
  
“My son is… young,” Kuiper said. “Still finding his way.”  
  
Wylan nodded. Of all people, he and Jesper had to understand that. They had needed time to find their ways, too, and Colm had been an immeasurable help to Jesper even for just a few days’ visit.  
  
Still, he was pleased when Arnoud returned and doubly so when the meeting concluded—both to have Arnoud Kuiper out of his house and because Jesper had reached his limit. It had been a good meeting. They made the progress Wylan had hoped for and scheduled a second meeting at which Kuiper would produce prototypes of advocaat bottles. When the Kuipers were shown out, despite the stresses, Wylan felt the meeting had gone well.  
  
The door was just closed when Wylan put his arms around Jesper.  
  
“Thank you. You were perfect and I know that was awful for you.”  
  
Jesper gave him a squeeze. “You know I love watching you play mercher.”  
  
Laughing, Wylan leaned up to kiss Jesper’s cheek. “Go and shoot something.”  
  
“How well you know me.”  
  
“Can I come and watch you in a bit? If I can get away?”  
  
They both knew what that meant: if his sister was all right, if Agata was all right. Jesper was top of the list in Wylan’s heart, but he didn’t _need_ Wylan in the immediate way the others did. He wasn’t a responsibility.  
  
“If you can get away,” Jesper agreed.  
  
Wylan found Agata first. She was in the garden with Marya, mending something while Marya painted. As he came closer, Wylan realized she was mending one of his shirts. He had learned to do that himself, though not well, and he rarely had time. It was one of those skills that embarrassed him not to be able to do.  
  
He asked after his mother and shared a brief conversation about her latest piece—the butterflies were out in droves this year and Marya wanted to capture their image while she could—before asking if he might borrowing Agata for a moment.  
  
“Are you all right?” he asked, once he had Agata a fair distance from Marya. “Did he… did he do anything?”  
  
“Did he have to?” Agata returned bitterly. She shook her head. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.”  
  
“It’s okay.”  
  
“It’s not.”  
  
“It’s not,” Wylan agreed, “but it’s okay to tell me.”  
  
She shook her head again. Her pale blond hair was braided in a way that made him think of Fjerda, that made him miss Matthias. Wylan didn’t think often of Matthias, but it was always a keen ache when he did. The older boy had barely tolerated Wylan until Nina was sick with _parem_. Or maybe it was how he changed in the Ice Court. Whatever the cause, Matthias had started to look differently at Wylan, and Wylan was sorry they never had a chance to be friends.  
  
Agata said, “I don’t know if he knew. It doesn’t _matter_ if he knew.” After nearly two years, her Kerch was near perfect but still carried the sharp edges of her native Fjerdan.  
  
“What can I do, Agata?” Wylan asked.  
  
Again she only shook her head.  
  
He sighed. “I like you here. You’ve been good to my mother and I know you’re friendly with the other girls, but if you want a position elsewhere, I’ll arrange it.”  
  
“Where can I go that I am no longer a whore?”  
  
Wylan felt his jaw set. “You’re not a whore. You’re a lady’s maid.”  
  
She shrugged.  
  
“I can’t take it away,” he warned. Nothing he ever did could take away what had been done to her. “But I may have something to make your life here a little better.”  
  
After his chat with Agata, Wylan tracked down Jette. She was tidying the music room. He found her easily—he just followed the sound of a piano playing a single note every ten seconds. Neely was perched on the piano bench, poking at a single key, then giggling when it rang its deep note.  
  
Wylan swooped in beside her and played a quick, simple tune. Neely giggled. He wasn't sure which he liked more, seeing her smile or seeing her at the piano. He only hoped she had not inherited her mother's musical talent.  
  
“I hope she hasn’t been too much trouble, Jette,” Wylan said, drawing Neely close for a hug. She allowed him to do it, but quickly squirmed back to the piano.  
  
“No trouble at all,” Jette said.  
  
Wylan raised his eyebrows. There were many ways to describe his sister, _no trouble_ not among them.  
  
“I do mean that. She’s climbed over half the furniture but that’s as children do.”  
  
Was it possible, Wylan wondered. Was she becoming, could she become, a normal little girl? Perhaps being out of her grandparents’ house she was finding the opportunity.  
  
Perhaps things were finally settling for the Van Ecks.  
  
There was one final matter to attend to for the day. Neely agreed that she would stay with Jette, and Jette assured him it wasn’t a problem, so Wylan tracked down his housekeeper.  
  
“Miss Meijer, how are you this afternoon?”  
  
She gave him a curt nod. “Well, thank you, Mister Van Eck. I trust your trip was a productive one.”  
  
“Very productive,” he confirmed. “In fact, it’s something we’d like to do again, Jesper and I. Luckily we don’t need to rent out a house every time. We have the lake house outside the city. Have you ever been?”  
  
“Not to that house in particular, no.”  
  
“Would you like to see it?” Wylan asked. “Because I’d like you to be caretaker to it. You do such a wonderful job here, I know I can trust you with the lake house.”  
  
“Well… I…”  
  
He saw her trying to find a way to refuse the job and knew there would be none. He would offer better pay, that was only fair. It must be promotion, not retribution—even if it was retribution. Miss Meijer had been an asset to the household when it was run by Jan Van Eck. He liked things orderly and professional. Wylan was not his father. The people working for him had learned that he truly didn’t care if they were chatting or laughing together, so long as the work got done.  
  
Miss Meijer did not like it. Did not _fit_. She was a guardian of propriety, a champion of the old ways.  
  
Finally, she said, “If I may, Mister Van Eck, I would like to offer you a word of caution. You’re very young. You may not see the end of the path you are starting down.”  
  
“I may not,” Wylan agreed. The thing was, though, that he saw the end of the path his father had walked. He would not walk it himself.  
  
He waited until that evening—after he had watched Jesper shooting at their rigged-together range. After Jesper had kissed him until Wylan realized if he didn’t stop, they were going to do something he really didn’t want to be seen doing. “Later,” Wylan murmured, half-mournful, separating them.  
  
Jesper chuckled. “That a promise?”  
  
“Ghezen’s ledger, you’re shameless!”  
  
After dinner, when Jesper was watching Neely and Marya was reading quietly, Wylan knocked at Agata’s door.  
  
“I apologize for intruding on your free time,” he began.  
  
“There is no intrusion, Mister Van Eck,” Agata assured him.  
  
Sveta, Agata’s friend, sat on Agata’s bed and gave Wylan a look that said she certainly saw it as an intrusion. Wylan had worried about them initially—Sveta was Ravkan, and Grisha. But there had never been tension between the two.  
  
“I thought you might like to know, I’ve promoted Miss Meijer,” Wylan began. He saw that Agata didn’t quite like the news but plunged ahead, “She’ll be working at the lake house well outside the city.”  
  
The penny dropped. Agata threw her arms around Wylan.  
  
“Thank you for intruding on my free time!” she said.  
  
He laughed. “You’re quite welcome. I’ll have to bring in a new housekeeper, but she won’t know, I promise she won’t. I promise.”  
  
Agata nodded. “Yes. Thank you.”  
  
He should have done something ages ago, not made Agata live with that situation for nearly two years, but Wylan hugged her nonetheless. Belatedly, she was quite welcome.


	16. How to Host a Murder

Three weeks had passed—three weeks since Jesper’s relapse, since their holiday—three weeks and it may as well have been a lifetime.  
  
Having a child in his home who seemed to hate him had been a painful experience for Jesper. Seeing people miserable was bad enough. _Making_ them miserable was a dozen times worse.  
  
The holiday seemed to have reset their relationship. She would acknowledge him now, wave at him, and she let him hold her as long as he wasn’t wearing silk. The biggest change, though, was the stories. Jesper was slowly stealing bedtimes from Wylan. Neely might like Jesper—but she loved stories. She slept through the night better with a story to put her out.  
  
As for what Jesper got from her… well, she was a toddler. One didn’t, reasonably, expect much out of them. She could be loads of fun, though. She _enjoyed_ things. When she smiled, she smiled with all her tiny heart.  
  
Like right now.  
  
Jesper currently sat on the floor a few feet from Neely, rolling a ball to her. She caught it. Jesper getting the ball to Neely was easy. Neely sending it back to Jesper, however—that was a challenge. Sometimes it needed a second roll, and she would flop forward and scrabble toward it, keeping her butt to the floor like there were rules to this game.  
  
“I’ve got it,” Jesper told her in Zemeni.  
  
He had asked a few days ago if she wanted to learn. Her eager nod was probably just a response to what Jesper wanted, but he started using his first language with her, anyway.  
  
“Ready?” Then, in Kerch: “Ready?”  
  
She nodded and he rolled the ball to her again. She caught it and, with a grin, rolled it back. When the ball went wide, Jesper made a show of almost falling over to catch it. Neely laughed so hard she rocked with it.  
  
There was value, he thought, in the way she was, in the things toddlers inherently knew. Jesper had been called childish too many times for his joking. He didn’t see why, didn’t see being miserable just for the sake of it as any sort of virtue. But when he could fall under and start to think of himself as wrong, now he had Neely for a reminder. Now he could look at her, happy, and know.  
  
She hurled the ball at Jesper. He had been distracted and it hit him square in the chest.  
  
“That’s not okay,” he said.  
  
Maybe they played too much, though, because the next time, she did the same thing again with a grin on her face.  
  
“Not okay,” Jesper repeated, sharper this time.  
  
Neely flinched. He watched the lights in her eyes flicker the same way Wylan’s could, watch her smile die. She nodded her head solemnly. When they had first lived together, Jesper had seen that look from Wylan; he had come to understand that, to Wylan, affection and love were things one could lose. It confirmed some of Jesper’s worst fears about Alys’s family.  
  
Broke his heart, too.  
  
“Hey,” he said gently, “it’s okay. Just don’t do that. Okay?”  
  
Another nod.  
  
“You’re still my kit, aren’t you, darling?”  
  
She glanced at him, then slowly nodded.  
  
“Can I have a hug?” Then, when she nodded but stayed put, “Can I pick you up?”  
  
He let her snuggle close and walked her around the nursery for a while, singing her a Zemeni lullaby. This was something they would need to deal with. He didn’t know how. With Wylan, it was different; Wylan was older, patient. Wylan was reasonable (usually). Neely was so young.  
  
Jesper put the thought aside for now.  
  
“Shall we have our story? Yes? Good choice.”  
  
Some of the stories came straight from books. Others…  
  
“This is a story called ‘How Jesper Learned to Dance’ starring Jesper L. Fahey. Once upon a time, a brilliant and very handsome boy named Jesper lived on a farm with his ma and da…”  
  
Maybe he elaborated a little, but the basics of the story were truthful. When he was small, Jesper had seen his parents dancing once. It must have been in winter if his da had the energy to dance at the end of the day when Jesper was meant to be asleep. Though he did not get caught sneaking out of bed that time, they knew he had seen them because his ma spotted him trying to dance with a broom. She had smiled and tried to teach him to dance, but Jesper had refused. He wanted his da to teach him. He had taken one of his shirts and wrapped it around his waist so he could have a swishing skirt like his ma did. But then spring came and his da was busy on the farm, and Jesper’s ma taught him—between chores, between shooting lessons—she taught him another half of the dance. So that Jesper knew all the steps and could dance with anyone.  
  
“…and then in the end he fell in love with a clumsy prince who only knew very formal dances. Luckily, Jesper adored him enough to teach him the steps. And they lived happily ever after. The end.”  
  
Neely yawned. She barely stirred as Jesper settled her in her crib and tucked the blankets around her.  
  
Normally, after Neely was asleep, Jesper spent his time with Wylan. They finished up whatever business was leftover for the day, or they talked, or they held each other and didn’t talk. Wylan came up with Fabrikator games sometimes, usually silly things that Jesper would never do on his own but would take a shot at, for Wylan.  
  
Today Jesper made a quick stop by their bedroom to change his trousers—sitting on the floor was pretty much requisite with a toddler, suboptimal for meetings with other adults—and add a waistcoat to pull his outfit together. He buttoned his waistcoat on his way downstairs. If he wasn’t late, he was close to it.  
  
Wylan was waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs.  
  
“Saints, Jes!” Wylan threw his arms around Jesper. “I was starting to worry you’d left me for a younger merchling.”  
  
Jesper laughed. “I deserved that.”  
  
“You absolutely did. Is she down?”  
  
“Fast asleep when I left her. Ready?”  
  
“Um…”  
  
Wylan Van Eck was many things according to the gossip in Ketterdam, most amounting to “eccentric”, but he was undeniably a thrower of excellent birthday parties. Ever since they decided that Wylan’s birthday would be a tool to build his reputation, Jesper and Wylan had worked together to make the parties memorable. That first year had been hastily thrown together and scandalously under-supervised. Last year, they used Eil Komedie, newly reopened and absolutely printing cash.  
  
This year’s party would be murder.  
  
Literally.  
  
Well, no, the murders were pretend. The real part was a group of young merchers and other well-to-do types running around the first floor of the mansion trying not to be “murdered”. They had designated a murderer, of course, and required everyone to stay on the first floor. Once “dead”, a person must go out to the garden. Hardly the worst of fates, there would be cake and fireworks there before the end of the party.  
  
“We have an unfair advantage,” Wylan had pointed out, himself and Jesper being the only two people at the party who had ever avoided actual murderers.  
  
“Disadvantage,” Jesper argued, “we’re going to be expecting far more than any merch can deliver.”  
  
They did sneak off for a while, listening to the laughter and shouts of the other young people. Per the rules, Jesper and Wylan stayed on the first floor—such a mercher murder, one with rules and propriety.  
  
Josep, the designated “murderer”, “killed” them both while they were kissing in the back of a closet.  
  
“You’re a heartless man, Josep Van Kemp,” Wylan informed him.  
  
“You’re the one who was distracted with a murderer on the loose,” Josep retorted, and Jesper decided he liked this one.  
  
“I’m difficult to resist,” Jesper said.  
  
“He is,” Wylan confirmed. “Take my word for it.”  
  
There was a not-joking edge to his voice that Jesper needed a moment to place. When he did, he laughed. “I love when you get possessive. Come on, there’s snacks in the graveyard.”  
  
They had made it into about the last quarter of "survivors", and mingled with Wylan’s very pleased peers, chatting and snacking until the last of them arrived, arguing over whether or not the last group of survivors was allowed to “kill” Josep. (An inspired strategy if Jesper did say so himself!)  
  
The party was a grand success, full of laughter and delight. It wasn’t as _big_ as last year’s—not being hosted here at the mansion instead of Eil Komedie—but everyone seemed to have just as much fun.  
  
Wylan had designed and built the fireworks himself, with a little help from his favorite Fabrikator, and Jesper knew they would be impressive. The display was met with appropriate gasps and cheers from the other young merchers in attendance.  
  
At first, Jesper didn’t even notice the whimpers.  
  
When he did, he looked to Wylan. They were both having the same thought, he knew, as a murmur rippled through some of the guests.  
  
Wylan strode to the door and scooped up his sister before she could go from whimpers to tears.  
  
“It’s okay. Did the fireworks frighten you, sweetpea? Look, they’re just for fun,” Wylan soothed. He had completely forgotten the others—Jesper saw it in his eyes. There were three people in the world Wylan looked at that way, like there was nothing else but them that could possibly matter: Jesper, Marya, and Neely. And Jesper loved him more in those moments than any other. His attention didn’t have to be on Jesper, he just loved this part of Wylan, the all-consumed-by-love piece of him.  
  
“I can take her back to bed,” Jesper offered. There was no reason for Wylan to miss his birthday party.  
  
“I think she’s okay.”  
  
Neely had attached herself to Wylan, cuddled close with both hands knotted in his shirt, but she had at least a third of her attention on the fireworks. Jesper reached over to stroke her cheek and she tapped her forehead against his fingers.  
  
“You have no idea how many of these girls are swooning for you,” Jesper whispered into Wylan’s ear, careful not to be overheard. When they saw Wylan snuggling his little sister, half the mercher girls looked ready to marry him.  
  
_Hah! _They could dream!  
  
It was nice, the three of them watching the fireworks. Neely was asleep before the end of the show, but Wylan stayed through the finale they had so carefully crafted. Hopefully he was basking in the _ooh_s of the spectators—Jesper certainly was! Besides, Neely was asleep by then, comfortably safe enough in his arms that some of the other merchlings could coo over her, all lowering their voices to avoid waking the sleeping baby. Wylan apologized, but no one seemed to mind.  
  
After the last of the guests had left, after Neely had been put back to bed, after Jesper and Wylan had tidied the worst of the mess (albeit not entirely cleaned up), Wylan collapsed onto their bed.  
  
“Aren’t you going to change?” Jesper asked.  
  
Wylan grumbled something incomprehensible.  
  
Jesper pushed him onto his back, sat on the bed beside Wylan, and began unbuttoning his shirt.  
  
“Jes?”  
  
“Hm?”  
  
“Do you think she’ll ever speak?”  
  
Jesper paused. Neely would be two years old in a couple of weeks, her birthday close on the heels of her brother’s. The timing had always unsettled him a little. Maybe it was only a coincidence; maybe Jan was trying to overwrite his first child in every way he could. Timing aside—two was quite old not to be speaking.  
  
“Well…”  
  
He didn’t know. What if she didn’t? What if she couldn’t? They would love her, but Jesper knew the questions would haunt Wylan just as they had when they first moved into the mansion. His sister’s inability would mirror his own, would recall every harsh thing his father said to him. It wouldn't matter that they had a good life. It wouldn't matter that they were happy. It wouldn't matter that Wylan was brilliant, clever with explosions and surprisingly talented at trade as well, all he would see was whatever words became when he looked at the page.  
  
He finished with Wylan’s buttons. Wylan half propped himself up to remove his shirt in the laziest possible way. It would have been deeply unfair, except that Jesper felt no hesitation putting his hands on Wylan, brushing at his edges—palms tracing up his sides, down his arms.  
  
“She has one word,” Jesper said, finally. “She’ll get more.”  
  
Wylan’s eyes snapped from half-sleep to fully awake. “What?”  
  
“Wy, give her time—”  
  
He shook his head. “What do you mean she has one word? I’ve only ever heard her whimper and shout.”  
  
Now that he thought about it, Jesper hadn’t heard her speak in front of her brother.  
  
“Maybe she’s waiting until she’s better,” he reasoned. “Practicing on me.”  
  
The idea worked through Wylan’s mind, his expression shifting.  
  
“Wy…”  
  
“What does she say?”  
  
“It’s just babble. Aya? Something like that. It doesn’t mean anything.”  
  
Wylan nodded. “Yeah—you’re right. Probably practice,” he said, audibly trying to believe himself. Before Jesper could say anything else, Wylan pressed on, “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. It was a wonderful party.”  
  
“It was,” Jesper agreed. “We should invite murderers around more often.”  
  
Wylan snorted. “We did, if I recall.”  
  
Which was true. Kaz always received an invitation to Wylan’s birthday party, not that he ever accepted. Had they been in Ketterdam, Nina and Inej would have been invited as well.  
  
“No manners,” Wylan murmured. He was falling asleep again; it was always like this after a party, Wylan exhausted by so much company, Jesper jittery for want of more. Wylan helped. He didn’t need to do anything. Just being him gave Jesper something to focus on, a center to bring him back.  
  
“But then you like that,” Jesper teased, kissing Wylan’s neck.  
  
Wylan laughed. “Come lie down with me.”  
  
“Bossy.”  
  
“You love it.”  
  
“I love _you_.”  
  
“Yeah you do.”  
  
It wasn’t until they were both together under the covers, Wylan held close for his sense of safety and Jesper’s sense of security, that Wylan murmured, “And I love you. But that’s just good sense.”


	17. A Letter from Ravka

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quite a short chapter this time I'm afraid, but the final chapter of this story and first chapter of the sequel should be posted within the next couple of days.

Dear Jesper,  
  
Congratulations on your growing family! I know you’ll be a great brother. Not having any siblings myself, I asked Adrik his opinion.  
  
_The most important moment between us was when Nadia fought to keep me at the Little Palace after students were evacuated to Keramzin. I was still young, but Nadia trusted me, and she didn’t leave me behind. Living up to her expectations made me stronger._  
  
Nadia, you may remember, is married to Tamar, who heard about your inquiry. Tamar and her brother have always stayed together. Tolya, her brother, says he would never go where she can’t be beside him, nor trust anyone who doesn’t respect his sister. He also recommends a number of epic poems that portray the bonds of brotherhood.   
  
Tamar, of course, is King Nikolai’s spymaster.  
  
_Younger siblings look up to their older brothers. They feel every acceptance and remember every rejection. They also, I am sorry to inform you, are by birthright entitled to know and exploit your every weakness and be eternally forgiven._  
  
So there you have it, from the royal court at Ravka. Big brothers have faith in their little siblings, stand by them, and forgive them. But like I said before, whatever the standard, you’ll be a great big brother and Neely’s lucky to have you.  
  
Leoni  
  
P.S. I’m enclosing a bottle of kvas since you can’t get decent kvas in Kerch, the list of poems from Tolya, and a toy for your sister. You can call it whatever you like. Genya insists its name is Sobachka. Genya is wicked, but then, so are you.


	18. Epilogue

**8 Months Later**

  
“Wylan.”  
  
Wylan had his head just slightly bowed, tilted to an angle slight enough that he might be avoiding the wind, severe enough to keep him from making eye contact. Fewer folks stayed to mingle outside the Church of Barter on chilly days like this one. His hope had been to avoid the few who did. More than anything else in the world right now, Wylan wanted to be at home, away from the cutting wind and the snow that melted droplets of savage cold onto his face and wrists.  
  
He had no choice but to pause when he heard his name. Well, he had a choice, but it was pause or rudeness.  
  
“Yes, Mister Radmakker?”  
  
“I wonder if you will walk with me a ways.”  
  
Jellen Radmakker’s home wasn’t quite in the same direction as Wylan’s, but they could split the difference—walk about halfway to either place before one of them was heading away from home. Hopefully that was all the man intended. He had been kind to Wylan and the thought was ungenerous, but not as ungenerous as the day was cold.  
  
Wylan nodded. “Of course.”  
  
An ally. If anyone among the Council had been an ally to him, it was Radmakker. And Wylan appreciated that.  
  
“I hope Miss Radmakker is well.”  
  
“She is recovering, thank you.” Radmakker’s sister had taken ill; she was a devout woman and it was rare she was absent from church, so Wylan knew she must have been quite ill indeed. “And Miss Hendriks? Your sister?”  
  
“Mama’s joints were bothering her this morning. Neely is still too young for church, I’m afraid.”  
  
His mama did not want to come to church, but Wylan did and always would cover for her. After what she had endured, she didn’t have to a single thing she didn’t want to. As for Neely… there were still challenges. Though she was clearly happier now, she hadn’t spoken a word and sometimes they had to physically stop her from hitting her head on the walls. But she was happy, overall. She couldn’t tell them, but Wylan knew she was happy.  
  
They were a short way from the Church when Radmakker leaned close to say under the wind, “You must go more slowly, Wylan, with the Council.”  
  
Wylan looked over in surprise. He liked Radmakker, but had always assumed part of the reason for their peaceful relationship was that they did not discuss politics outside of work. Radmakker might give Wylan advice on decorum, but this… this was new.  
  
“The reforms you propose—the book last year was a clever move. It was smart to turn the people’s minds and building policy from there.”  
  
What else would a friend of Inej Ghafa have done with his political power? Wylan had used his position on the Merchant Council to try to push legislation regulating the brothels. It had been a pet project with no traction for some time, and Jesper’s idea to collect stories from those working in the brothels. The book they published was ridiculously popular. It also humanized the people forced into prostitution.  
  
But that wasn’t the only reform Wylan wanted and he was very clear about it. He didn’t want to clean up the Barrel. He just wanted to build schools and clinics there, and kitchens to serve everyone whether they “earned it” or not. He wanted landlords to be required to provide running potable water to all tenants. He felt there ought to be minimum laws for what a servant must be paid, not the going rate, not _anything but the Merch may revoke it_.  
  
Wylan had a lot of opinions, as it turned out. They were quite revolutionary to people who had never _needed_.  
  
“Mister Radmakker, do you agree with my reforms?”  
  
“I find your arguments persuasive,” he non-answered.  
  
So they talked about how Wylan might take a more indirect approach. When Radmakker counseled patience, Wylan did not reply that patience was all well and good for people who were not suffering, not desperate. The falling snow was unpleasant for Wylan, but temporary. The sense that denizens of his city might freeze to death tonight was far less endurable.  
  
Yet he could see that Radmakker was correct. Wylan would have better luck working within the Council’s way of thinking and changing their minds over time.  
  
When the two parted ways, Wylan shook Radmakker’s hand and thanked him.  
  
A few minutes later, he let himself into the mansion through the kitchen door. He still wasn’t much of a cook, though he could manage the basics, but he could spread butter over bread and layer on leftover meat and cheese. It was the best way to make an entrance, in this household: carrying a tray of food. Obviously Jesper and Marya were also capable of Wylan’s paltry culinary accomplishments, anyone with half a mind and a drip of coordination was, but it was the gesture. The contribution.  
  
Wylan walked down the corridor carefully. He wasn’t worried about dropping the sandwiches, but there was a glass of milk and a pot of brewing tea that could easily turn disastrous.  
  
He heard Jesper speaking in Zemeni and picked out a few words—something about a small… something… maybe ‘nose’, then ‘clever girl’. He knew that one.  
  
They were in the sitting room, a fire crackling in the hearth. Wylan was surprised to see Marya with them, though she had opted for a chair while Jesper and Neely were on the floor, wrapped together in a blanket.  
  
“Good morning,” Wylan told them.  
  
“Good morning,” Marya said.  
  
“Barely,” Jesper replied. To Neely, he said, “Look who it is, Wylan’s here!” He could make anything sound exciting, like Wylan’s return from church hadn’t been utterly predictable.  
  
Neely shook her head.  
  
With a half-amused look, Jesper said, “She’s ornery today.”  
  
“She’s ornery because you spoil her when she is,” Wylan said, setting down the tray.  
  
“I do not,” Jesper objected. His resolve lasted all of a second before he was grinning. “She is pretty cute when she’s being ornery though.”  
  
“Horrid man.” Wylan crouched to kiss him, then Neely’s forehead. She grinned at him and waved. “There you are, sweetpea,” he said, handing her a slice of bread and—optimistically—a piece of cheese. According to others he had asked, children would eat what you gave them if they were hungry enough. According to his observations, Neely would eat what she liked.  
  
“You love my horridness.”  
  
“I have a weakness,” he admitted. “Coat pocket.”  
  
As Wylan stood, Jesper reached into his coat pocket and took out the bottle of lager stashed there.  
  
“And I love you,” he added.  
  
Wylan went to his mother for a hug. “Hello, Mama.”  
  
“My sweet boy. How was church?”  
  
“Surprisingly, it’s given me much to think about.” Well… Jellen Radmakker had, but did Wylan _really_ need to clarify when he had something actually positive to say about church? Usually, this time of year, all it gave him was boredom and a half-frozen bottom. “More socks?”  
  
She nodded. “For the foundlings’ home.”  
  
There were many things about his mother’s outlook with which Wylan did not agree, but they both valued aiding those in need. Admittedly she valued it for the practicality—_sacred is Ghezen_—but when they agreed, he preferred not to go looking for an argument.  
  
“Sunshine, come and sit with us,” Jesper said. He held out a corner of the blanket. The same hand was holding a sandwich, which was somehow amusing and quintessentially Jesper. He had his book closed on his lap.  
  
Wylan kissed his mother’s cheek, poured himself a cup of tea, then grabbed a sandwich and took the offered seat.  
  
“And what have my favorite heathens been up to this morning, hm?”  
  
“We have been learning, we’ve done language lessons, haven’t we, kit?”  
  
Neely nodded. She picked up her cup in both hands. Wylan instinctively steadied it as she took a drink.  
  
“There you go, wouldn’t want to hurt your new book!”  
  
“She loves this one,” Jesper reported. It was a manuscript submitted to their publishing house. “All of the stories are about chipmunks. Go on, show your brother your chipmunk impression. It’s hilarious, Wy.”  
  
Neely put her hands to her mouth and puffed out her cheeks.  
  
Wylan laughed. “Very rodent-like,” he confirmed.  
  
“Why do you never read to me, brother?”  
  
It was the very question Wylan had dreaded. He knew how much she loved her stories. He had made his own peace with being unable to read to her; it helped that Jesper was so sweet with Neely and such an excellent reader. Accepting it for himself, though, that was one thing.  
  
What was he supposed to tell her?  
  
“Well… I know how much Jesper loves to. It’s something special for you two, that you can share.”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
She nodded and took a bite of her bread.  
  
Wylan breathed out a sigh of relief. The moment had been bad and now it was over. Done. Hopefully the explanation would hold.  
  
Jesper was staring at him.  
  
“Wylan,” Jesper said.  
  
He looked meaningfully down at Neely, currently offering her bread to Dog.  
  
“Ghezen and all his works!” Wylan yelped.  
  
Jesper burst out laughing. Neely scrambled into Jesper’s lap, hugging Dog.  
  
“No, hey, no, I’m not cross,” Wylan said, reaching out to stroke her hair. She flinched away. “I’m not, I promise. I was just surprised. Neely, you spoke! Have you—has she done this before?” he asked Jesper.  
  
Jesper shook his head. “It was a first for me, too. It’s all right, kit. He’s not angry with you.”  
  
Neely shook her head and pressed her face to Jesper’s chest.  
  
“Will you look at me for a song?” Wylan asked.  
  
She shook her head. Given Wylan sang to her all the time, that might not have been the best bargaining chip.  
  
“For five kruge?” Jesper tried.  
  
She shook her head.  
  
“For a candy?”  
  
Neely hesitated. Then she stretched out her hand.  
  
“Okay, I don’t have a candy, but I will owe you two candies.”  
  
She held up her hand, fingers spread. Five candies?  
  
“Three,” Wylan bargained. He wasn’t entirely certain how he had come to this situation, bartering for candies with a two-and-a-half-year-old… but here he was.  
  
Neely turned. She was still huddling close against Jesper, but she turned her head to look at Wylan. He took this as an invitation to kiss her forehead.  
  
He wanted to ask why she didn’t speak before, how long she had been able to. He wanted to ask her to say different things for him.  
  
Instead, he said, “Any time you want to talk, I want to listen.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end! 
> 
> This story didn't turn out quite how I wanted and I may rewrite it later, but what I really wanted to explore was Jesper and Wylan dealing with the stress of being new parents to a child with disabilities, and to really focus on that central issue of communication. I wanted to be sure said question was answered in this fic before posting the sequel, so there was a bit of a rush on my part.
> 
> That said! I hope you enjoyed it! Part 3 of the series, the far more polished Feast of Sankt Nikolai, already has its first chapter up and I hope you'll check it out :)


End file.
